Home
by nmd529
Summary: Jane never considered herself as the adventurous type. After all, she spent most of her life with her nose buried in her books, experiencing love and life through others. But after tragedy rocks her family, she's forced to move in with her grandparents in Beacon Hills. There she stumbles upon a vicious chain of murders, a brewing war, and an enigmatic man haunted by his past
1. Chapter One

**As a fan of Teen Wolf from the very beginning, I've been dying to write a story like this. Only Jane Brown and her immediate family are mine; everyone else belong to the creators at MTV. My story graphic was made by the incredible lazy bones TDA. Without further ado, here is chapter one:**

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Rain lashed against the old windows of Beacon Hills Library; thunder forced the entire building to shudder in protest. The sky above was so dark that any common observer would have supposed that it was at least eight o'clock at night, and not mid-afternoon. Wind rattled the metal street signs so viciously that they were nearly torn out of the ground. The roads were almost deserted, the storm frightening away any possible visitors for the library. Only my co-worker, Mrs. Pollard, and me were working there that dreadful day; there were only a few people walking in that day, so our duties were mostly focused on retrieving books that, after a particularly loud clap of thunder, tumbled from the shelves and onto the dark carpet.

"Jane?" asked Mrs. Pollard now, forcing me to look up from my Physics textbook and directly into her dark, weathered eyes. "Can you go check on that girl in the back? I don't like leaving her alone with those public records."

Holding in the urge to roll my eyes, I set the book upon the desk that I was sitting behind and got to my feet. Honestly, Mrs. Pollard was far too old to still be working in the library; she was nearly seventy years old and only seemed to grow more bitter as each day in her life ticked by. She was also ridiculously nosy, to the point where she was constantly butting into everyone's lives, including, unfortunately, my own. Not a day had gone by during those first months that I was working at the library when she hadn't demanded to know every detail on my nearly non-existent personal life, from the type of toothpaste I used—"You know that teeth-whitening crap is going to rot your teeth away until you'll be needing dentures when you graduate from college"—to if I had a boyfriend—"Want a life lesson? Stay away from all men; all they do is eat and complain. Definitely not worth your time."

"Sure, Mrs. Pollard," I told the elderly woman with a friendly smile; if I had learned anything over the time I had worked with her, it would be never get on her bad side. That would be a fatal mistake.

"Good," said Mrs. Pollard. "Damn girl and her need to be here every day; honestly, what's so exciting about the public archives? Nothing, I tell you…"

Leaving her to her irritable ranting, I stepped away from the Information Desk and began to make my way to the back of the library, where the archives were located. The scent of fresh ink and yellowing pages purged my senses, making me happily breath in the intoxicating air. There truly was no better place than the library; it held all of my greatest passions in its quaint abode, from cookbooks to classic Victorian era novels to the biographies of past poets and authors. It was my safe-house, the one place where I could truly be my happiest. Despite all that had happened in the past year, nothing could drag me down while I was in the presence of so many incredible books.

Shoving away those prodding memories, I entered the archive room, which was lined with file cabinets and bookshelves, filled with all of the information on Beacon Hills, California. Well, almost all of it; there was some that would continue to elude the occasional researcher.

Sitting alone at a long, wooden table was one person, a girl maybe a few years older than me. Her head was ducked down, long dark hair forming a curtain around her fair face as she hastily read some packet of papers that she had pulled out from one of the filing cabinets.

"Laura?" I asked her gently. "Everything alright back here?"

She instantly jumped at the sound of my voice, startled by my sudden presence. Her large green eyes blinked up at me, framed by a dark fringe of eyelashes. Laura Hale tucked a stray strand of black hair behind her ear as she replied, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just…still looking for…something. You're not locking up yet, are you?"

"Oh no," I shook my head. "No, you have a few more hours. If you want, I can stay here after hours, if you need some more time back here?"

A strange smile spread across her face as she continued to regard me, her intense green stare gazing directly into my eyes. "I should be alright. Thank you, though. I really do appreciate it."

"It's no problem," I shrugged. Biting my lip, I added, "I'll just be up front if you need me, alright?" Laura nodded as she resumed searching through the files before her, and I took this as an opportunity to leave her alone to work and return to the Information Desk.

For the past couple weeks, Laura had arrived at the library just after nine o'clock and disappeared into the backroom of the library, diving straight into those archives and searching for whatever piece of information that was evading her. Sometimes she would leave for a few hours, but she would always end up being here when we were forced to close up. Then, the next morning, she would be sitting on those front steps, waiting for one of the librarian's arrival. It was a vicious cycle, one that she seemed intended to keep.

Mrs. Pollard had made no effort to hide her distrust for the girl, whispering in her wake that she was far too meddlesome for her own good. A bit hypocritical, of course, but what more could we expect from dear Mrs. Pollard? As for me, I held no misgivings for Laura; she had always been polite and kind, although a bit secretive. But, as my father had taught me since I was a young girl, I continued to show as much kindness to her as possible. As she became a permanent fixation in the library, I would occasionally bring her a coffee when I was forced to make a run to the local café, or even offer her the extra cookie that I packed with my lunch. I wasn't positive on what made me desire to help her so much, but she certainly didn't seem to mind all that much. She'd even offer we exchange numbers a couple days before.

"All set back there?" Mrs. Pollard asked me pryingly as I took my usual seat at the desk.

"Yes," I replied calmly, returning to my book and listening to the raging storm just outside the window beside me. "Everything's fine."

* * *

No matter how hard I tried, the exhaustion refused to desert my sleepy eyes. As I drove home from the library, cooked dinner for my grandparents, and unpacked a few more of the boxes still holed up in my bedroom, I couldn't seem to escape the fatigue that continued to plague me. Despite the immense amount of chores I had left to complete, I threw myself upon my bed, ready to announce defeat to my enervation.

As I closed my eyes, my phone began to vibrate in my jean pocket. Groaning to myself, I pulled it out and, not bothering to look at the caller ID, answered it. "Hello?" I practically gurgled as I began to burrow myself into my comforter and pillows.

"Jane?"

Frowning at the slightly crackly, unfamiliar voice, I flipped onto my back and, gazing up at the bare ceiling, replied, "Yes, this is she. Who is this?"

"It's Laura. Laura Hale."

"Oh, hi, Laura," I hastily said, sitting up. Ever since I had given her my number, I hadn't received a call or text from the strange girl; obviously this wasn't just a standard checkup from a casual aquaintance. "What's up?"

"Well, I'm in a bit of a bind. You're not busy, are you?"

Glancing around at all of my unopened boxes and down at my exhausted body, I smiled at my invisible caller and replied, "Not at all. What do you need?"

And thus, half an hour later, I was pulling into a rather seedy-looking motel on the outskirts of Beacon Hills, glancing at my GPS to make sure that this was, in fact, the right address that Laura had given me. Fortunately, the storm had calmed down to a light drizzle, the cool rain coating the dark paint of my aging car. But, the wispy rain offered me a chance to see where exactly I was heading, and I wasn't exactly too sure about this destination.

The motel was one of those cheap, one-story buildings that you only found in those intense crime shows and the occasional horror movie. A giggling, drunk couple was collapsing into their room as I pulled in front of the white door labeled "12".

Just as I was parking, Laura Hale was closing her door behind her and calmly walking over to my passenger door, her phone pressed to her ear as she quietly spoke into the receiver.

"—just call me back, Derek, okay? Talk to you later," Laura was saying as she slipped a seatbelt over her thin form. "Hey," she grinned over at me. "Thanks again for the lift."

"It's no big deal," I began modestly.

"You're wrong," said Laura bluntly. "I'd be shit out of luck if it wasn't for you."

I offered her once last smile before asking, "Where do you need to go?"

After she gave me some quick directions, we began to drive back into Beacon Hills, away from that motel that continued to shoot chills up and down my spine. Rain began to pool all over my windshield, the wind picking up slightly as we continued to drive. Glancing over at Laura, I broke the silence by asking, "So, what happened to your car?"

"Broke down on the side of the road," she told me. "I had to walk all the way back to my room and leave it there. Hopefully I'll be able to get a tow truck tomorrow morning to bring it to a mechanic—and don't offer to call a trucking company or pay the mechanic or whatever good deed you want to fulfill," she added as I opened my mouth.

Flushing, I defensively replied, "I honestly wasn't going to say any of that. I was just going to see if you needed a ride to the library tomorrow."

Laura continued to observe me for a moment before a smile returned to her face. "First off, I don't need a ride, but thank you. Secondly, Jane, you must have been a saint in a past life. You're far too kind to everyone, including that old bat at the library—"

"Even _I_ can't keep my patience around Mrs. Pollard," I laughed along with her as I slowed at a stop sign. "So you can't give me that one."

After a quick, companionable silence through a long, dark stretch of endless road, Laura probed, "So what are you? A freshman at some local community college or something?"

"Still a senior," I grimaced. "For one last semester, at least; before I moved to Beacon Hills, I had to take a semester off last year for some…personal reasons, so I just have one more left before I can finally go to college."

"Take a right here," Laura ordered me before, as I switched my turning signal on, continuing with, "It'll fly by for you, I'm sure. Then you'll have all-access to the promise land."

As I pulled up to a separate building with a sign labeling it "Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital: Long-Term Care", I overheard Laura abruptly suck in a deep breath. Frowning as I pulled into a spot, I was just glancing over at her as she unbuckled her seatbelt. "Just stay here, alright? This will only take a minute."

Laura disappeared into the hospital, and I ran my fingers through my dark hair, still slightly damp from the oncoming showers from above. The thin hairs on the back of my neck began to stand on end, and I nervously glanced all around my car. There were no other cars there but mine, although every single light was still lit within the hospital. And yet, I continued to search the parking lot, sure that someone was, indeed, watching me. My fingers fidgeted with each other, the occasional nail being clawed off in anxiousness.

Laura's face abruptly swam in the passenger window, making me involuntarily gasp in surprise as she knocked on the glass. I hastily unlocked the door and she slid inside, shaking her damp hair all about as if some sort of wet dog. "Alright, we're all set," Laura smiled at me, although it didn't quite reach her eyes as before.

Thinking of that sleazy motel, of the people that would be ranging all about the corridor outside her room, and the fact that she would be there all alone, I bit my bottom lip. "Now, don't bite my head off," I began, not catching the ironic grin that flashed across her face, "but, are you sure you want to stay at that motel tonight? If you want, you can crash at my house tonight. It's hardly luxurious or anything, but it's better than nothing, right?"

I was positive that Laura would turn me down, laughing off my offer as another example of my "sainthood". But, she startled me when she replied, "You know, that might not be a bad idea. Just for tonight though, right?"

"Absolutely," I hastily said. "I don't want to smother you or anything—"

"Don't worry, Jane, you're definitely not," smirked Laura. "One night in a place where I don't have to keep looking over my shoulder actually sounds kind of nice."

"Good," I eventually smiled at Laura as I pulled out of the parking space and set off for home. A sleepover with a girl I had known for a couple weeks? I'd done worse.

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**Alright, so that's the ending of this first chapter. What do you all think? I was really excited to include Laura, who I feel is left out in most stories. Please leave me a review! Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter Two

**First off, I want to thank all of my reviewers, you people are just lovely (: Without you guys, I don't know how I would keep my muse so strong. And, without further ado, here is the next installment to "Home":**

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"You're sure your parents won't mind me staying here?" Laura asked me as we both stepped out of my car.

The rain had finally subsided, leaving behind a few wisps of fog that stubbornly refused to dissipate. I glanced up at the house looming before me that, for the past few months, I had been forced to call home: fairly average-sized with a giant, white farmer's porch that wound itself around the entire first floor, encasing a sunny yellow front door. Wind chimes hung from thick, black nails, tinkling lightly as the breeze fluttered through the porch. It was rather country for the chic state of California, but, for my family, it fit perfectly.

"Grandparents," I corrected her now, glancing back at her. "And it won't really matter if they do anyways; if my timing's right, they'll have both taken their pills, so an earthquake can pass by here and they'll still be snoring away."

To make my case, I calmly unlocked the front door and turned on the entryway light, illuminating the two of us, as well as the wooden staircase leading up to my slumbering grandparents. After locking the front door and shutting off any unneeded lights, I motioned for her to follow me up the stairs and into my bedroom, gently closing the door behind Laura. "I'm sorry it's a bit of a mess…" I told her, glancing around the room.

The problem with working a full-time job was that I was never offered enough time to sit down and fully unpack the boxes that held my possessions that had been shipped all the way from Maine. By the time I arrived home every night, I would just gaze stupidly at the walls lined with cardboard boxes labeled with "clothes" and "books", and eventually collapse onto my bed, too exhausted and emotionally drained to deal with any of it. For, as soon as I cut away the tape binding those boxes, my memories would come rushing out, infecting my insides until I have no other choice but to accept them.

Besides the mess of boxes, my room was fairly organized; my pale yellow comforter was pressed neatly around my cream-colored pillows, several library books piled high on the nightstand beside my bed. The door to my closet was just barely open, the sleeve of my black jacket peeking out at us. My window was pushed open, a light breeze filtering into the lit room and brushing the white, gauzy curtains aside.

"Did you all just move here?" asked Laura, taking a seat at my desk, pulling one of her legs up to her chest and resting her chin upon her knee.

"I did," I replied, sitting cross-legged on my bed. "I used to live in Portland, Maine before…well, before my father died."

"I'm sorry," Laura said, her intense green gaze never leaving my face. "I…understand what it's like to lose a parent—nothing can ever fill that hole, no matter how hard you try. You just have to learn to live with it."

I smiled sadly at Laura, nodding; she hadn't asked me how my father had passed, which I greatly appreciated, and I repaid the favor by not querying about her own past. Instead, I got back on my feet and pulled some clothes from my dresser. Turning back to Laura, I told her, "I'm afraid that the shorts might be a little short, but they'll have to do," as I passed them into her waiting hands. "And my sleeping bag is up in my closet, so you can have my bed—"

"Oh no," said Laura, already beginning to unabashedly strip away her t-shirt and jeans and pull on the clothes I had handed her. "I'm not taking your bed. Give me the sleeping bag, I'll be more than fine. And don't argue," she added as I opened my mouth to do just that, "or I'll just tape you to the bed if I have to."

Relenting, I grudgingly nodded and, after grabbing the sleeping bag for her, rushed to the bathroom to change. While Laura may have been more than comfortable enough to change clothes in front of someone she had only known for a couple weeks, I was most definitely not. Perhaps it was just me being prudish, but I couldn't bring myself to just undress in front of someone I wasn't completely at ease with. Even then, I still wouldn't feel relaxed.

After slipping into a pair of sleep shorts and an over-sized t-shirt, I stole back to my bedroom, where Laura was sitting out on my pale blue sleeping bag, curiously examining the books that I had checked out from the library about a week ago. "You sure are a reader," she stated as soon as I quietly closed the door behind me.

"Yeah, I guess it's in my blood," I shrugged as I settled onto my bed, plunging my ice-cold feet underneath my thick comforter. "My mom practically lived in our local bookstore; she was just as obsessed as I was with books. Novels, textbooks, encyclopedias, you name it. She even named me after Jane Eyre."

"It sounds like you two were close."

"No, not really," I replied uncomfortably. "She passed away just after I was born." As I saw her startled gaze turning to me, I hastily added, "Enough about me. What about your family?"

At first, Laura didn't reply, making me fear that I had touched on some unforeseen nerve. However, just as I was about to take back the inquiry, she responded, "It's just Derek and me, my younger brother. We haven't seen each other in a few years though; he's in Brooklyn, and I've been living up in Washington ever since we both graduated from Beacon Hills High."

"It must be nice to have a brother though," I offered. "To have a companion throughout your childhood? It was always just me and my dad growing up, and he was constantly at work, so I never really had anyone. Well, besides my books of course, which makes me sound rather pathetic, I now realize."

Laura chuckled as she replied, "Not exactly pathetic; more like lonely."

After a few more minutes of chatting, I eventually hopped off my bed and turned the lights out, plunging the both of us in complete darkness. Or, well, not _complete _darkness—a daisy-shaped night light flickered in the obscurity, reflecting in my dark blue eyes as I curled up under my blankets. I was a bit worried that Laura would make some sarcastic comment about it, but she stayed silent as she climbed into her sleeping bag and rested dark head against one of my pillows.

Just as my eyelids were slowly beginning to droop and my mind was about to whisk away to dreamland, Laura's voice floated into my room once more, asking, "Why have you been helping me so much, Jane?"

"W-what?" I sleepily said, still trying to shake the cobwebs out of my head.

"Ever since I first came to the library, you've been nothing but accommodating to me, from bringing me coffee to letting me sleep in your own house. You don't do that with all of your customers, I know that for a fact. Why'd you do it for me?"

I took a deep breath, not even sure of what an honest answer would sound like. To be entirely truthful, I wasn't even exactly sure why I had been so determined to offer Laura a companion, which she so clearly lacked. Perhaps it was my own loneliness that drew me to her. Finally I replied, "I'm not completely sure, Laura. Maybe it's just that, if our roles were switched, I would want someone to try and be there for me. Everyone needs someone, right?"

When Laura didn't say anything at first, I turned my head slightly to glance down at her. To my surprise, the brunette was now fast asleep, her chest gently rising and falling as soft snores escaped her. Unsure if she had even heard me, I turned my back to her, allowing slumber to consume me. If I had remained awake, I would have caught her eyes instantly snapping open, flashing in the glow from my nightlight, and the smile that streaked across her sharp features.

* * *

"Jane? Wake up, darling."

A warm hand gently shook my shoulder, forcing me out of my slumber to blearily blink all about my bedroom. My grandmother, her long, silver hair pulled back into a loose bun, had perched herself on the side of my bed, her slender fingers softly rubbing circles on my back as she awoke me. Her pale blue eyes lit up as soon as she found that I was, in fact, barely awake. "Ah, there's my girl," beamed Nana as she tucked a piece of my unruly dark hair behind my year.

"Morning, Nana," I yawned loudly as I sat up in my bed. "Is everything alright?"

"Oh yes, of course," Nana smiled. "Well, your grandfather is driving me crazy, but what else is new? Anyways, you're not working today, are you?"

"No, I have the day off."

"Excellent," Nana clapped her hands together. "You can help me cook for your uncle then. I'm sure he and that boy of his have absolutely nothing in their entire kitchen, so they're probably eating out every night. Honestly, what men would do without women, I'm not sure. Is that alright with you, dear?"

"Of course, Nana," I grinned up at her as I swung my legs over the edge of my bed and got to my feet. Just as she made to leave, I caught the sight of my rolled-up sleeping bag, a set of pajamas messily folded upon it, and frowned as the memories of last night came rushing back to me. "Nana?" I called after her as she was descending the staircase to head down to the kitchen.

"Yes?"

"You didn't happen to see my friend leave, did you?"

"What friend, Jane?"

"The one that stayed over here last night, Nana. Laura Hale? You…you didn't see her this morning?" I asked, growing more and more confused. Pappy and Nana always got up at the crack of dawn every morning; surely they would have caught Laura leaving, since she obviously wasn't here anymore.

"I'm sorry, dear, I didn't," Nana popped her head in the entryway, her brow furrowed slightly in her own puzzlement. "I didn't even know you were having a friend over."

Biting my lip nervously, I replied, "I honestly didn't either, Nana, but she needed a place to stay. I'm sorry, I'll tell you the next time I have someone sleeping here."

Shooting me one last odd look, Nana disappeared from my sight. Sighing to myself, I re-entered my room and glanced around, searching for some note that would explain Laura's sudden disappearance. I caught sight of a slightly crumpled piece of paper sticking out from my stack of books beside my bed; hurriedly snatching it, I read the note, relief slowly spreading through my body as I scanned each word:

_Jane,_

_ Sorry I had to leave so early. Something came up—I'll explain later. Thank you, again, for everything. I really do appreciate it. Call you later?_

_-Laura_

Well, I thought to myself, at least I knew that she was alright. My curiosity peaked at what on Earth had come up, but I kept it deeply hidden. Surely she would tell me later of what had happened; perhaps the next time I would be at the library? Of course, my next shift wasn't until tomorrow, after my very first day at Beacon Hills High.

Thoughts shifting to my anxiety for having to start anew at a brand new school, Laura eventually drifted from my mind as I speedily showered and dressed in a pair of denim shorts and a violet t-shirt. Of course, as I finally began cooking with my grandmother, I realized that it probably would have been best if I had just stayed dressed in my pajamas. By the time we had finished layering vegetable lasagna, simmering homemade chicken noodle soup, forming mini turkey meatloaves, and cooling chocolate chip cookies, my t-shirt had been spattered with tomato sauce and smeared with cookie dough. Suffice it to say, I was a bit of a mess.

"Why don't you go change and take all of this stuff to your uncle's?" Nana asked me as I finished washing the last of the dishes. "I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

Obediently I followed my grandmother's "advice" and, after changing into a dark blue tank top, bundled up the immense amount of food to be placed into my car. Just before I ran out, I kissed my grandfather on the cheek goodbye. "You alright, kiddo?" Pappy asked me just as I moved to step outside.

"Of course, Pappy," I beamed at him.

Later on, as I was driving to Uncle Jake's house, I thought back to my grandfather's strange question. I knew that he and Nana were worrying about me, since all I seemed to do was hang around the house or work, but I was perfectly fine. They expected me to have a huge group of friends already, just diving to the social aspect of high school without any hesitation. Unfortunately, they'd soon find out that I just wasn't built like that; even back in Maine, I had very few friends, preferring to just spend time by myself or, when he, on the rare occasion, wasn't working, with my father.

I had an inkling that Nana had ulterior motives to sending me off to Uncle Jake's to drop everything off; she had this strange theory that I would befriend my cousin there, who was only a couple years younger than me. Or perhaps she just wanted me to become closer with Uncle Jake, since he had been so dear to my parents. After all, he was my mother's brother, as well as my father's best friend. Pappy and Nana had thought of Uncle Jake as their second son, and had continued to, even past both of my parents' deaths. He and his son were always invited to holiday dinners and family gatherings; they were just as much as part of this family as I was.

Pulling into Uncle Jake's house, I was hardly surprised to see that his police car was nowhere in sight. After all, the town's sheriff should be out in the middle of the day, fighting the rare criminals that would venture into Beacon Hills. All that was left was an old, topless, dark blue Jeep blasting some heavy metal music that I didn't recognize, its owner soaking in the ridiculously loud music in the front seat.

Taking in a rather nervous breath, I stepped out of my car and quietly approached the Jeep, my cousin completely oblivious to his visitor. "Stiles?" I called out loudly from right beside him. Of course he couldn't hear me; I could barely catch my own thoughts. Sighing, I shoved my hand in through the open window and sounded the car's horn, its sharp note cutting through the music.

Stiles nearly jumped out of his own skin; he gazed at me incredulously with wide, dark brown eyes as his fingers fumbled with his radio. The music abruptly disappeared, although my ears were still ringing. "You scared the living hell out of me," Stiles accused as he turned his engine off.

"Sorry," I grinned apologetically. "I tried yelling for you, but you were too busy blowing out your eardrums. How can you listen to that racket?"

"Oh, sorry, Grandma," smirked Stiles as he stepped out of his car. "Would you rather I listen to Justin Bieber?"

"That'd probably be just as bad," I grimaced. "So," I began to make my way over to the trunk of my car, "I come bringing gifts."

The trunk door flipped open, revealing enough food to feed the U.S. army; Stiles instantly grinned at the sight of it all. "You sure do know the way to my heart, Jane."

"I do my best," I shrugged modestly. Just as we were beginning to transfer the food from my car to his kitchen, I couldn't help but ask, "You ready for your first day as a sophomore tomorrow? It's a very important year, you know."

"Oh yeah?" he asked as he set down a particularly heavy pan of lasagna with a loud smack onto the counter. "How's that?"

"You'll start getting those questions about what you're going to do with your life. About college and majors and your grades. It all starts here, I'm afraid. Good luck with that," I smiled sympathetically up at him.

Honestly, for someone who was two years younger than me, Stiles shouldn't have seemed so _tall_. Sure, I didn't have the greatest height—but at least I was considered of average height. For some reason, from my vantage point, Stiles seemed much taller than I remembered him being. Of course, only a couple months ago I had seen him for the first time in five years—he probably would have grown a few inches since then.

"Alright," I said when we finally finished moving all of the food out of my car. "You'll give Uncle Jake a hug for me?"

"Oh yeah," replied Stiles sarcastically, "I'll just give him a nice, slobbery kiss and everything."

Shooting him a look, I went to leave out the garage door when, on the tiny wooden table beside the door, I was startled to find a familiar photo of my parents gazing up at me. My father, his thick, dark blonde hair an absolute mess and his nose crooked from the countless fights he had gotten into, grinned goofily into the camera, a thin arm wrapped around his beautiful bride. The bride in question was, of course, my mother. Her long, curly, dark brown hair desperately tried to escape the classic up-do spun at the back of her head, her cerulean blue eyes, a perfect mirror image of my own, slightly bloodshot from the tears that had managed to seep through her mascara and eyeliner.

Some fools had occasionally assured me that I was the spinning image of my mother. But, I could hardly see it; she was pretty, maybe even beautiful, while I was nothing but small, pale, and plain. Sure, I had her eyes and unruly hair, but that was about it; everything else belonged to the rest of my family. "What's this doing out?" I asked Stiles, coming out of my slight stupor and glancing back at my cousin.

At first, he furrowed his brow, puzzled at my question. But, after a quick glance at the picture in hand, he casually replied, "My dad took it out a couple weeks ago to show you; he wasn't sure if had any pictures of your parents, you know, still together."

Glancing down at my beaming parents, I suddenly wished Uncle Jake was there, so I could show him my genuine gratitude for this gesture. "Well," I finally said, "tell him I said thank you." Tucking the photo into my purse, I waved goodbye to my cousin and stepped back outside, the warm air drying my moist eyes and clearing the lump in my throat.

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**So, that is the end of this chapter. I hope you all enjoyed the inclusion of Stiles in the end (: Thank you all for reading, and please leave behind a review!**


	3. Chapter Three

**I won't say too much, just that you all should definitely enjoy this chapter ;) Happy reading!**

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_Beep, beep, beep_

A frustrated groan escaped me as I groggily glanced over at my buzzing alarm clock. After a couple moments of blankly gazing at the digital screen, I was able to finally read what was blinking at me: 7:59. Somewhere in the back of mind, I vaguely heard my grandmother's words from the night before—_"Remember, you need to be at the school by 8:15 to meet with Mr. Rome; don't be late!"_

"Damn it!" I hissed as I struggled out of the knot of sheets tangled at my feet. Through some harsh kicking and scrambling, I eventually fell face-first out of my bed, whacking the side of my head on the corner of my night stand.

Clutching my throbbing temple, I hurriedly tore off my pajamas and pulled on a random t-shirt and jeans. There was nowhere near enough time to busy myself with make-up, even though I probably wouldn't have had the patience to suffer through smearing that stuff all over my face. My hair, still damp from the shower the night before, was forced into a tight pony-tail at the back of my head; a couple tendrils stubbornly tickled my cheeks, but I ignored them, far too busy with rushing out of my bedroom, backpack slung over my shoulder and keys in hand.

Fortunately, the house was empty, thanks to Nana's nursing job at the hospital and Pappy's duty to run his errands, so no one was privy to my late awakening. After grabbing a handful of granola bars—my breakfast and lunch for the day—and shoving a pair of black flip flops onto my feet, I raced out to my car and jetted off to Beacon Hills High.

Even as I began my commute, I anxiously glanced over at my clock, wishing that time would somehow find a way to stall itself. As bad as it was to be late for my first day, it would be even worse due to the fact that the head of the Guidance office, Mr. Rome, would be absolutely furious with my tardiness. During our first meeting at the deserted school about a month ago, he had made absolutely no effort to hide his obvious disdain for me. I had never met the man before in my life, and yet he clearly despised me more than any other pupil in the entire student body. I had no doubt that he would have no problem with making an example of me by handing me detention or some other humiliating punishment.

As I drove through the thick patches of gloomy fog and occasional patches of rain-filled puddles, exhaustion never struck me. Despite my constant tossing and turning the night before, I was somehow jolted with energy, my fingers fidgeting anxiously as they clenched the steering wheel. Adrenaline rushed through my veins throughout my trip to Beacon Hills High, even as I pulled my car into one of the few parking spots left.

The clock built into my dashboard clicked to 8:30. Fear prickling my skin, I hastily shrugged my backpack onto my shoulder and sprinted through the parking lot, which was completely devoid of anyone. Clearly the first bell had ringed in my absence, which just made my late arrival even that much more humiliating.

I slipped in through the front doors of the school, glancing down the gray locker-lined corridor in hope of finding any signs to the guidance office. Of course, just my luck, there was absolutely none. Instead, I was forced to blindly navigate the hallways, wasting even more time, until I came across a white door labeled "Guidance".

As I burst into the front desk area, I was only able to briefly take in the startled secretary whose thin blonde hair was straightened until it was practically lifeless, the bulletin board that was piled on with countless flyers and announcements, and a man in his early forties just about to leave his office. "You should like it here very much, Allison," he was saying when he glanced over at the door that I had just dashed through.

It was far too easy for me to recognize Mr. Rome's protruding beer gut, round, balding head, and beady black eyes. Obviously, it didn't take him too long to remember me as well—his bushy eyebrows rose at the sight of my abrupt entrance, a snide comment soon following. "Ah, Miss Brown," he said nastily. "I see you have decided to grace us with your presence."

Flushing, I rushed to stammer out an apology, but he easily ran over my efforts. "You should know that, here at Beacon Hills, we highly frown upon those who feel they are too good to actually show up on time."

A mumble sounding faintly of my now lame-sounding excuse managed to permeate the air, but Mr. Rome barely took heed of it. "I'm afraid that you missed my welcoming speech, but perhaps Miss Argent here will be so kind as to inform you later on when I'm not wasting my time with you?"

At first I was confused about whom he was speaking of, when he moved to the side and revealed a tall, willowy girl that had been hidden behind his plump belly. She was blushing slightly at my expense, but she had no choice but to nod as Mr. Rome focused his watery eyes upon her.

"Alright," said Mr. Rome, clapping his pudgy hands together and seeming to regain his cool as his secretary continued to gaze at him in surprise. "Let's get you both to your classes, yes? Come along now."

As we both rushed after the surprisingly quick man, I was able to sneak a glance over at my companion. As I said before, she was rather tall, standing at least a few inches above the top of my head, and pretty. Dark, loose curls brushed her slender shoulders, which were clad in a chic, light brown jacket that looked more expensive than my entire outfit. Her skin was as pale as fresh snow; her pale pink painted lips flashed a small smile at me as she caught me studying her as we followed Mr. Rome. I hurriedly looked away, forgetting to return the smile and only feeling that much more simple and plain compared to her.

"And here is Jane's class," Mr. Rome practically spat out as we halted in front of an ordinary, dark blue metal door. "Physics, I believe. You have your schedule, right?"

As soon as I began to move my head in a nod, Mr. Rome practically jogged down the corridor away from me, the startled girl in tow, leaving me absolutely alone. I glanced down at my bare toes, trembling as the cool air conditioning brushed against the sensitive flesh of my neck.

Well, I thought to myself as I took in a deep, calming breath, I might as well get the misery off with. Without another thought of it, I grasped the steel door knob and stepped into the unfamiliar classroom.

* * *

"So, Jane, how was your first day?"

As soon as I stepped into the library, this was the first of many questions that I was bombarded with by Mrs. Pollard. It was only the beginning of a complete interrogation on what had happened at school, who I had met, which classes I had, and, most importantly, if anything relatively juicy had occurred.

I probably could have had a better first day. Let's just say that everything that could have gone wrong did go wrong, starting with my very first class. As soon as I had managed to flag down Mrs. Harper, my Physics teacher, she briefly introduced me to the class and eventually set me on my merry way to my seat. Only, as I was walking, someone shoved their foot out into the pathway and sent me toppling down to the ground. Snickers burst out in the classroom as I hurried the rest of the way to my seat, hiding my flushed face from any prying eyes.

Only to further my growing popularity at Beacon Hills High, when Mrs. Harper finally asked everyone for the differences between Classical Physics and Modern Physics, I had been foolish enough to be the only one to raise her hand, offering the pleasantly surprised teacher a reasonable answer. It was only when I couldn't count on both of my hands the amount of dirty looks lobbed in my direction that I realized, oh yes, I had broken one of many social faux pas—this one being never show up your classmates on the very first day of class.

My next class hardly improved; a blonde girl clad in expensive clothing and donning far too much make-up had been so kind as to inform that, in my rush to be relatively late for school, the pale green t-shirt I had thrown on that morning was, in fact, inside out. So, with my cheeks turning into a rather hideous shade of puce, I had hurried to the bathroom to return my t-shirt to normal. It was then that I noticed my horrific appearance: my thick hair was in desperate need of a brush, drops of sweat were beginning to bud on my temples, and my cheeks were exceptionally pale and clammy. But, as I already had no time to hurry back to my class to retrieve my backpack, I had no choice but to continue on through the day looking as ghastly as I did.

By the time lunch had rolled around, it was already a forgone conclusion that I would, indeed, be sitting alone. Fortunately, I had arrived fairly early so I was given a chance to at least secure my lone table. As students began piling into the cafeteria, I ravenously bit into my granola bar; I was never given a chance to even eat any of the meager food that I had brought with me that morning, so I was practically starving.

Just as I was unwrapping my second one, someone abruptly sat at my table. I glanced up in surprise to see the girl from that morning—what was her name? Alexandra or something—casually reaching into her paper lunch bag and pulling out a sandwich and apple. It was only when I was able to regain my voice that I finally asked, "What are you doing?"

"I'm eating lunch," replied the girl simply, taking a bite of her sandwich and calmly looking back at me with amber eyes.

"No, I mean, why are you sitting here? With me?"

The girl, playing her part well, allowed confusion to flit across her fair features. Eventually she said, "Well, I figured you seemed nice enough this morning, and you didn't exactly have anyone to sit with anyways, right?"

Just as I opened my mouth to reply that I may have, in fact, been waiting for someone, I noticed a petite red-headed girl sitting down with a group of her preppy-looking friends, sending rather malicious glances in my direction. Flushing slightly, I told my companion now, "Well, I don't think your friends are too happy about that."

She nonchalantly glanced over her shoulder to catch the red-head's glare and shrugged her shoulders as she turned back to me. "Lydia will get over it," she said. "I want to sit with you, if you are okay with it, of course."

At first, I didn't reply. Yes, she seemed nice enough, but I had honestly already started getting used to becoming a bit of a social pariah, both here and at my previous school. And yet here was this random girl, figuratively extending friendship in the palm of her hand. It wasn't that I didn't trust her—it was just a bit overwhelming. Finally making up my mind, I told her, "Its fine with me."

"Good," smiled the girl. "I'm Allison, by the way. Allison Argent."

I had shyly returned her smile and replied, "Jane Brown. It's nice to meet you."

And thus the typical chatter between two girls commenced; in such a short period of lunch, I discovered various facts about Allison Argent, from how she was allergic to shellfish to how she had a secret talent for archery. I learned that Allison had been moving from state to state throughout her entire life, since her dad worked for the government. She also, despite being a sophomore, was only about a year younger than myself, due to all their moving around. By the time the bell rang, we had already exchanged numbers, agreeing to meet up sometime.

Unfortunately, my budding friendship with Allison was the only decent part of my entire day; the rest of it was filled with snide comments about my frizzy hair and the occasional bumping in the bustling hallways. Finally, after my Calculus class, I was free to leave and head to the library, the only promising event I had all day.

And so this was where I was now—huddled behind the information desk, my head resting on my crossed arms and desperately trying to forget the miserable first day I had at Beacon Hills. Not even the intoxicating scent of leather-bound books and aging paper could brighten my spirits—at that point, all I wanted to do was curl up in my bed and fall fast asleep.

"Jane, can you be a doll and put these books away? My damn arthritis is acting up again."

Blearily blinking up at Mrs. Pollard, who was massaging the kinks in her gnarled fingers, I offered a weak smile and said, "Sure. I'll get right on it."

"Oh, and, Jane? Here's a brush I found in my purse—no offense, dear, but you look like you could use one."

Doing my best to hide my embarrassment, I snatched the brush from her shaking hands and hurried to the private bathroom behind the desk. After wrenching my hair free of its pony-tail, I worked the small, plastic brush through the many gnarls and knots in my hair until it looked somewhat presentable.

While so many women ranted and raved about how much they wished they had thick hair, I would give nothing more than to offer it to them, free of charge. With thick hair comes the constant need to brush it out, to make sure that you have at least twenty minutes to comb it until it's eventually smooth. Unfortunately for me, that seemed to be impossible—it was just curly now, tickling my cheeks as I splashed some cool water onto my face, hoping to at least wake myself up somehow.

With one last sigh at my reflection in the dingy mirror, I left the bathroom, returned the brush to Mrs. Pollard, and went off to fetch the book carrier. After piling stacks and stacks of books onto the metal shelves, I wheeled it away to the various divisions of the library, beginning with my personal favorite, nonfiction.

As I glanced at the peeling letters upon the creased bindings of the previously read books, I vaguely heard Mrs. Pollard directing someone to the nonfiction section. Softly humming to myself, I continued to work, the sensation of fading ink and cracking book spines under my slender fingers driving away my stress and tension. As I reached my last stack of books that were bound to the opposite side of the shelf, I heaved the heavy pile into my arms and began to walk over. It was only as I stepped out from the bookshelves and into the open that stumbled into a browsing visitor.

"Oh!" I gasped as I fell backwards, the books slipping from my grip and landing with a soft thump on the faded carpet.

I expected to join them shortly, but a strong, calloused abruptly grasped my fore arm, easily steadying me. As I glanced up from the floor that had been so willing to catch me, my cerulean blue eyes followed the tanned hand that was continuing to hold onto me up to a muscular arm that lead to broad shoulders clad in a dark gray t-shirt. Past the shoulders I discovered a thick, powerful neck that cradled a rather handsome face. Rich, dark hair, nearly black in the dull light of the library, led to a distinctive widow's peak upon his forehead; a slightly hooked nose sloped down to lips that seemed to have never experienced a simple smile. Heavy eyebrows slanted towards a thick, dark fringe of eyelashes that encased an entrancing, achingly familiar set of forest green eyes. Despite how near he was to my face, I couldn't decipher a single emotion in those captivating eyes—each one was tightly wrapped, never to be revealed to those he did not trust.

"Are you alright?"

His deep voice snapped me out of my trance, forcing me to blink up at him in surprise and hastily nod. "I'm fine," I told him as I tried to tug my arm out of his tight grip. As soon as he caught my questioning glances, he instantly released me, as if my skin had abruptly caught fire. "I'm sorry about, you know, bumping into you," I shyly said as I kneeled down to pick up the books that had tumbled from my arms. Before I could even blink, the stranger was kneeling down, several books already plucked from the ground and gently placed in my grip.

As soon as they were all safe in my arms, I hurriedly straightened up, blowing a stray piece of curly hair out of my face as the man—despite how he held himself, he had to be only a couple years older than me—returned to his full height as well, which easily beat my own. "Well, thanks," I managed to smile up at him before rushing back to my book carrier. I honestly didn't care that I still had to put those books away—there was something so unnerving about his presence that brought about a strange desire in me to put as much distance as possible between us.

"Wait," said the man suddenly as I began to hasten the book carrier down the lines of shelves. Too involved in my own racing thoughts, I barely heard him. It was only when he abruptly blocked my pathway, his strong hands clasping my carrier and forcing me to stop. I nervously glanced up into his eyes, taking in the firm line his mouth had become. "Are you Jane? Jane Brown?"

I instantly froze; how on earth did he know my name? Pushing away my anxiety, I hastily replied, "Yes, I am. Have we, erm, met before?" A silly question, of course, but my mind seemed to have gone ridiculously blank.

"No, but you've met my sister," replied the man, his stoic face flashing abruptly at his last word. "Laura Hale?"

"Laura?" I repeated, now growing rather confused. "Yes, of course I've met her. But why—" I studied his dark green eyes once more, their intense gaze shocking a familiarity within me. "You're her brother, aren't you? Derek, right?" At his seemingly reluctant nod, I continued, "She mentioned you before to me. W-why are you asking about her? Is everything alright?"

At first Derek didn't reply, causing only the worst thoughts to run through my mind. But, as if he seemed to read what they possibly could be, he swiftly replied, "I just need to find out what she was doing here. She said she was doing some kind of research here and that you had helped her out."

"Well, I'm afraid I can't help you much," I told him as I tried to recount our past conversations with each other. "She's rather secretive, your sister. But I can show you the public records she was searching through, if that would help."

At his curt nod, I continued to stare rather blankly up at him. It was only when one of his eyebrows rose that I was hurtled back to earth and forced to glance back at the information desk. Mrs. Pollard was continuing to work away, her sharp eyes catching anything that could possibly be out of place. Holding in a sigh, I met Derek's eyes once more and told him, "Just…wait here, okay? I'll be right back."

Not bothering to wait for a response, I hurried back to my workspace, trying to inconspicuously grab ahold of the key to the public records that was hanging near my seat. Unfortunately, just as I wrapped my fingers around the cord, Mrs. Pollard caught sight of me and instantly frowned. "What do you think you're doing? You're not…you're not actually taking that _boy _into the public archives, are you?"

Holding in a desire to look over my shoulder at the "boy" she spoke of, I firmly told Mrs. Pollard, "They're for public eyes; he has every right to go in there. And I'm sure he won't be in there that long."

Mrs. Pollard pursed her lips in annoyance before replying, "Just because you think he's cute doesn't mean—"

"That has nothing do with it, I assure you!" I snapped hotly, my cheeks coloring considerably as I prayed that Derek had horrible hearing. Mrs. Pollard was startled at my outburst, but I barely took notice of it. Just as I opened my mouth to explain that it was only because he, for some reason, needed information on Laura, I paused; he probably wouldn't want to broadcast that information, would he? So, heaving in a sigh, I just walked away from our argument, a throbbing beginning to form in my right temple.

Just as I turned a corner to return to my book carrier, I stumbled into Derek once more. I felt my face flush, as it did before, but he barely took notice of me. Finally I managed to say, "Just follow me," before we set off to the back room.

As we were walking, the silence only bugged me even more. I could only last so long before my questions began bursting out of me. "How did you find me?" I abruptly asked him, forcing his intense stare to shift towards me. When he first didn't respond, I bit my bottom lip, anxious that I wouldn't be able to get anything out of him.

"I found your number in Laura's pocket," he replied quietly. "When we talked before, she had mentioned you, saying that you had helped her out. I figured you'd be the best person to go to for information on what she was doing here."

"Why can't you just ask her?" I continued to probe. As he, once again, kept his mouth shut, I couldn't help but add, "Your sister was my friend. I think I have a right to know—"

"A right to know our business?" he finished, annoyance creeping into his voice.

"I just want to make sure she's alright," I shot back at him, my confidence surprising even myself. "Is that too much to ask—"

We suddenly came to the end of the hallway, only a black, inconspicuous door blocking us from the public archives. But, I continued to stand firm, holding the key tightly in my clenched hand as I continued to gaze up at Derek. He held no fear of our staring contest, but I could see the frustration slowly eating away at his resolve. Finally he told me gruffly, "She's dead."

His words crashed into me, nearly sending me to the ground once again. How could this be possible? Laura couldn't be dead! I had only seen her a couple days ago, and she was perfectly fine. There was no reason to believe that this was even possible. How…how…I turned my gaze back up to Derek, whose hardened expression had softened ever so slightly. _"It's just Derek and me, my twin brother. We haven't seen each other in a few years though," Laura had said that night…_

My grief seemed insincere in front of Derek; Laura had probably been the last of their family, and she was gone now. No wonder he had hardly been willing to tell me what had happened to her. Numbly, I pressed the key into his large hands, my fingers hesitating ever so slightly before pulling away from him. "Go ahead," I told him softly. "Take as much time as you need."

Derek's brow furrowed down at me, but he eventually nodded before disappearing into the backroom. At first, I was too rooted to my spot to move; Laura was gone. The thought of it just unnerved me even more. I closed my eyes, desperately trying to swallow the lump forming in my throat.

Eventually, I returned to the Information Desk, my breath still shuddering, completely ignorant of the forest green eyes that briefly followed my every move.

* * *

**And that is the chapter. What'd you all think of Derek? I loved writing him, haha. He's just such a fascinating character. Thanks for reading, and please don't forget to leave a review!**


	4. Chapter Four

**I'm trying to keep up with my updates on this story, mostly thanks to my buzzing muse and the constant supply of ideas from each week's new Teen Wolf episode. I'm not sure if all of you are up to date with the episodes, so I won't go into detail about what has happened, but, for those of you who have, it's been pretty amazing, hasn't it? I just can't wait for the next two episodes to see what happens. Well, without further ado, here is the next chapter of "Home":**

* * *

The rest of that miserable day seemed to just drag on, the minutes plugging away as I continued with my shift at the Information Desk in a heavy daze. As the occasional browser approached me searching for answers or directions, I was forced to offer them blank responses, unwilling to even offer them a smile as they went on their way. Not even Mrs. Pollard's sporadic glares could even puncture my stupor, although she would have been positively thrilled if the circumstances had changed. After a chance glance out of the dim windows (they were in desperate need of a cleaning), I caught burnt oranges and soft yellows shifting to a rich dark blue, signaling that my day was finally over.

After returning the book carrier to its proper place, I was just about to slide my schoolwork back into my bag and head out for the night when Mrs. Pollard smug voice floated over to me. "What do you think you're doing?" she asked.

I blinked in surprise up at her smirking face and replied, "Going home….is that a problem?"

"Actually, it is," said Mrs. Pollard. "You can't leave here until the library is completely empty and, unless I'm wrong, I believe that boy has yet to leave. So, you'll be staying here until that backroom is empty and your boyfriend is nowhere to be found."

Just as I opened my mouth to protest her label of Derek, I caught sight of the triumphant glint in her sharp eyes and controlled myself. The argument wouldn't be worth the headache afterwards, so I held my tongue and silently nodded, dropping my bag back onto the carpeted floor. Shooting one last smirk down at me, Mrs. Pollard vanished through the front doors, leaving me with nothing but ringing silence and the growing darkness both inside and out.

Collapsing into my chair, I ran a shaking hand over my face and closing my eyes, trying to swallow the rising lump in the base of my throat. Laura, the only true friend I had found since moving to Beacon Hills, was dead, ripped from this world and forced to roam the afterlife. How could this have happened? Laura wasn't stupid—she knew how to keep herself safe, that much has been obvious to me as our friendship had strengthened. But, of course, not even the smartest people in the world could avoid the dangers that came bundled with life. Something had overtaken Laura, that was all I'd been told; who knew if I'd be able to get any answers from Derek, who seemed as close-lipped as his sister.

Sighing to myself, I glanced over at the backroom, florescent light creeping out from underneath the door. Somehow I'd get my questions answered, and who knew when I'd be able to see Derek again. Swallowing my nerves, my feet carried me to the public archives, fingers fidgeting with a stray thread poking out from my t-shirt. I peeked through the thick sheet of glass lodged into the door, but there was no sign of Derek.

Wrapping my hand around the doorknob, I pushed it open, patiently listening for any movement inside the lit room. Hearing nothing but silence, I quietly stepped into the room, glancing at the wooden tables and down the rows of filing cabinets, only to find that I was the only one there. A frown gracing my plain features, my confusion was stalled at the sight of the piles of opened files and stacks of papers that dominated the farthest table from the door. Curiosity getting the better of me, I approached the table, glancing around to make sure that I was, in fact, alone, before going to read the papers spread out before me.

The packet of papers closest to me was a newspaper clipping surrounding a fire at a local home in Beacon Hills that killed eight people and left one person nearly burnt to death. According to the article, the family's names hadn't yet been released to the public, out of respect for the dead and their grieving loved ones. Various excerpts were highlighted, small, cramped handwriting following the yellow markings with notes and questions that made no sense to me. Frowning at a picture of the charred remnants of the house, I set the packet aside and went to pick up another file that was closest to me, taking a quick peek up to make sure that no one had entered the room. It was only then that I caught sight of the tall, imposing form of Derek Hale.

Nearly jumping out of my skin, I felt my face flush as his narrowed eyes never left mine. Heart racing a mile a minute, I tried to stammer out something, anything that would give me a reason to be peeping through his work. Unfortunately, my half-hearted excuses only came out as a jumbled mess, leaving us in tense silence. Taking a determinably calming breath, I said, "I thought you had left."

His voice was low and unreadable as he replied, "You didn't see me leave, did you?"

"I thought I'd missed you," I suggested.

Refusing to respond, Derek approached the table with his long strides and tugged the file out of my trembling hands. "You shouldn't be sticking your nose in everybody's business," he said quietly, shuffling his work into an untidy pile before turning back to gaze down at me. "It's not exactly polite."

Pursing my lips as this man—who was probably only a few years older than myself, mind you—actually chastised me, I couldn't help but stubbornly reply, "I wasn't sticking my nose in your business, I assure you!"

"Then what were you doing?"

"Trying to find out if any of this," I gestured to the files and papers, "had anything to do with what happened to Laura. Obviously you aren't going to tell me anything, so I figured I'd better find some information on my own."

With a roll of his eyes, Derek turned his back to me, leaving the room with an air of having finished this pointless discussion. But, my frustration forced me to storm after him, hurriedly turning off the light before hastily following his much longer strides. "You know, Laura was my friend," I tried to tell him as he did his best to ignore my very presence. "I have the right to at least find out what happened to her."

Derek rounded on me, his dark green eyes flaming with annoyance; I was forced to halt my quick pace, nearly stumbling into his chest in the process. As I righted myself, he snapped, "I don't care if you, for whatever reason, believe that Laura was your friend. What we're involved in has absolutely nothing to do with you, and nothing gives you any justification to get every detail about our lives just handed to you. Now, do us both a favor and leave me alone."

Biting my bottom lip, I felt heat rushing to my face as he continued on his way. Letting out a frustrated sigh, I hurriedly threw my bag onto my back and found Derek, who was stepping into a sleek, black sports car. Rushing up to the car as the ignition revved, I told him through the open window, "You should know, Laura wasn't just my friend. She was my _only _friend here in this town, and the one person I actually felt comfortable enough to talk to. With her gone, I have no one here; and I know that you can understand that feeling, because she trusted me enough to tell me about how you both were the last two left in your family." Taking a shuddering breath, I finished, "I just want to know what happened to her, Derek. That's all."

At first, Derek didn't reply, staring at the stretch of road in front of him with narrowed eyes. As the silence continued, I was sure that he was going to just roll his eyes and tell me to bug off once more. But, just as I was about to sigh and admit defeat, he turned his intense gaze to me and asked, "Are you working tomorrow?"

After a brief moment of startled silence, as I had hardly expected this question as a reply, I said, "Yes, at three."

Derek nodded, turning away from me and saying, "Alright. Be here at two."

And, without another word, he shot one more unreadable glance at my surprised face before I subconsciously stepped away for the car, just in time as he instantly sped away down the road, leaving me standing in the middle of the road, speechless.

* * *

**Alright, I know this is super short, but I promise you I'll get the next update up as soon as possible. I'm just about to head out for the weekend, but I'll have it up next week hopefully. Thank you all for reading, and please don't forget to leave a review!**


	5. Chapter Five

**So, I hope this chapter makes up for the last, rather short one. Please enjoy, and don't forget to review! As always, I own nothing except for Jane and her family (besides Stiles and the Sheriff, of course).**

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As it turned out, my second day at school was hardly an improvement. The only bright spot was that, once again, I hadn't been forced to eat alone at lunchtime, having been joined by Allison like the day before. As before, we ignored the occasional glare from her red-headed friend, who obviously frowned upon her new friend's interest in me. Nonetheless, Allison promised to land me an invite at some party that was planned at the end of that week, even though I assured her that I wasn't really a party person. Unfortunately, it seemed Allison was as stubborn as a mule, and refused to take my subdued protests, promising me that I'd "have the time of my life".

Throughout my classes that day, my mind continued to wander to my eventual meeting that afternoon with Derek. The man just absolutely confounded me. Normally I didn't get frustrated so easily with people, especially those that I had only just met. But, with Derek, he seemed to throw my emotions all out of whack. My infuriation with him the night before had just enveloped my senses, forcing me to eventually snap. Later on that night, as I lay in bed with my blankets pulled all the way up to my chin, I thought back to how, with one look, Derek Hale had completely turned me inside out. And now I was forced to meet with him today.

When I eventually pulled into the library parking lot, I couldn't help but hope that Derek wasn't going to show up. Although I was desperate for information on Laura, something about having to having to meet that piercing green gaze of his just unnerved me to no end. But, as my car was safely tucked away into my usual parking spot, I caught sight of that familiar black car, the pristine paint job gleaming in the bright sunshine. And, of course, there was its driver, scowling in my direction as I stepped out of my own car.

"You're late," said Derek as I neared him, eyes still narrowed suspiciously up at me.

Frowning, I glanced down at my watch, which read only three minutes past two. Wanting nothing more than to avoid an argument, I conservatively chewed on the inside of my mouth and, glancing away, replied quietly, "Sorry."

When my eyes returned to his, I was startled to find Derek's expression softening ever so slightly. But, when he caught me staring, it instantly disappeared, returning to a harsh gaze. "Get in," he ordered.

Swallowing my budding annoyance with being directed as if I was some sort of servant, I obediently moved to the passenger side, my fingers hesitating slightly at the smooth touch of the door handle. Laura's smile swept through my vision and, taking a giant leap, opened the door and slid onto the leather seat.

Just as my seatbelt was clicked into place, Derek slammed his foot onto the gas pedal, hurtling me back into the seat. The library instantly disappeared, replaced with the thick, lush forestry of Beacon Hills. Cars honked in annoyance as Derek lazily swept around them, barely glancing in any of his mirrors as he effortlessly maneuvered his car. His expression was still the same—a cold stare, his mouth set in a thin line.

My face, on the other hand, was filled with nothing but horror. My fingernails dug into the smooth leather underneath me, blue eyes wide as each obstacle thrown in our pathway was only inches away from colliding with the front bumper. I continuously peeked over at Derek, hoping that he'd take the hint from me and slow down, but he either didn't notice or didn't really care. Finally, when I had decided that I was probably about to die in this psychotic man's car, I managed to open my mouth to softly say, "Could you please…um, you know, slow down?"

Derek glanced over at me, cocking an eyebrow as if completely flabbergasted by this question. "Why?" he asked blankly.

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, the speed limit on this road is 40 miles per hour, and you're currently going—"I took a hasty glimpse of his speedometer just to keep my facts straight—"100."

At first, Derek stayed silent. But, I could barely control my eyes as they gazed up at his set jaw and unreadable stare. Eventually he quietly replied, "There's nothing wrong with the way I drive."

Just as I returned from firing an incredulous look at him, a car abruptly merged in front of us, its bumper only inches from our front end. Unwilling to watch this eventual catastrophe any longer, my hands latched onto my face, fingers squeezed shut and not allowing any light to filter through. Even as Derek easily swerved around the honking car, I refused to relent, darkness continuing to fill my vision.

The car seemed to slow ever so slightly, and I consented to peeking to my left at Derek, only to find him frowning down at me. His searching green eyes met my wary gaze and, with a quiet sigh, the car brought itself to a reasonable speed of 60 mph. Heat warming my cheeks, my hands lamely fell to my sides, my gaze hastily following them. "Thank you," I told him, my voice nearly as low as a whisper.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Derek shaking his head, returning to watching the road. He hesitated before mumbling, "You're welcome."

For the next couple of moments, we drove in silence, the gloomy, gray skies up ahead casting a dull glow upon the shiny pavement rolling underneath the spinning tires of Derek's car. Due to my inexperience with driving throughout Beacon Hills, I hadn't a clue on where we were heading to. Glancing over at the driver, I caught him drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, obviously impatient with the protocol of actually driving the speed limit. "Where are we going?" I asked him curiously.

"You wanted to talk about Laura, right?"

"Yes," I replied uncertainly.

"Well, we're going somewhere to talk." With that, Derek plunged himself back into silence.

Frowning up at his blatant unwillingness to cooperate with me whatsoever, I took to gazing out the window, leaning my forehead against the cool glass and closing my eyes for just a brief moment. But, when I reopened them, unbeknownst to me, ten minutes later, I found that we were now parked in front of a small, brick building with a neon sign that spelled out in gleaming letters, Eve's Diner. Various other neon signs surrounded it, including ones that read "24 Hours" and "Breakfast Served All Day" and the last one, which was nearly as vast as the front sign, read "OPEN".

A surprised grin spread across my face. I had been so sure that 24-hour diners were only an east coast specialty, and would never be able to find one in California; back home, there'd been this one diner called Rose's that had some of the best food in the entire city of Portland. My dad and I had gone there nearly every Friday night for dinner after he was able to escape from his cases at the police station—normally this was around eleven at night, but it didn't matter to us. Just the scent of greasy, fatty bacon and freshly brewed coffee was enough to make all that waiting worth it.

Derek caught my lopsided grin, but said nothing as he turned off the ignition and stepped out of his car. Following his lead, I stayed in step with him as we eventually were ushered into a dull red, patched booth with a silver table separating the two of us. It seemed that the lunch rush was just about clearing up as there were only a few patrons left, nibbling their toast and reading the local newspaper. One lone waitress was talking to the cook in the back, her raspy laugh floating throughout the entire diner.

As I casually glanced down at the menu and decided that I wasn't that hungry, I noticed Derek's eyes, instead of perusing his own menu, were watching my face curiously. "What?" I couldn't help but ask, puzzled. When he refused to reply, I couldn't help but add, frustration growing, "You know, for someone who brought me here to talk, you aren't doing a lot of talking."

He glared at me, opening his mouth to retort just as the waitress roamed over to her table. Her frizzy red hair was pulled into a tight bun, gum smacking in her mouth and completely ignorant of Derek's annoyed expression as she said, "Hey dolls. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Just tea, please," I smiled politely up at her.

She nodded and glanced over at Derek, who curtly said, "Coffee."

Just as she went to return to the counter, she squinted down at Derek, mouth screwed up in concentration. "You look familiar. Have I seen you around here before?"

"No," replied Derek through gritted teeth, annoyance transforming into complete aggravation.

Rolling her eyes at his attitude, she disappeared, leaving the two of us alone. I considered chastising him for his rudeness but, as I was growing desperate for some information on Laura, I kept it to myself. Instead, I said, "So, what happened to Laura?"

"Car accident," replied Derek abruptly, startling me into silence. I had been so sure that he would take forever to respond, but he continued to gaze directly into my eyes. "She was in a head-on collision the night before I met you. Her car was totaled; she died instantly."

A frown spread across my face as I took in his explanation. Even as the waitress settled my mug of steaming tea in front of me, I said nothing, instead just staring down at the table top and, after a long sip of the hot, soothing tea, running over the details he had relayed to me through my mind. Something just didn't fit; Laura had said her car was broken down the night I had picked her up, and she hadn't even found a mechanic yet for the morning. There was no way it would be fixed that quick, not even with a stellar mechanic.

"You're lying," I told him as he was taking a gulp of his coffee—no sugar, no cream. Big surprise.

"What—"

"The night before she died, I had to pick her up from her motel because her car had broken down. It would have taken at least an entire day to fix whatever the problem was with her car. There's no way she'd be on the road by then to be in a car accident."

Derek froze, his intense eyes shifting into a glare as he stared at me. After a moment, the edges of his mouth twitched down into a frown as he said, "Laura wasn't staying in a motel."

"Yes, she—"

"I found her things at our old house," he shook his head. "She'd been staying there ever since she came back to Beacon Hills."

"Then what she was doing in a motel room?" I asked. "A terrible one, at that. I even had her stay at my house that night because I didn't like her being there on her own."

Derek looked down into the smooth surface of his black coffee, deep in thought. Surely none of this made sense to him either? My mind was buzzing with confusion; all of my questions lead back to the central problem: what had happened to Laura? Something was out of place, and I needed some answers.

As Derek remained silent, I hesitantly reached my shaking hand over to his, which was gripping his steaming coffee mug. My fingers brushed his knuckles, startling him from his thought and forcing his unreadable, intense gaze to turn up to mine. "Derek," I said quietly, "what happened to Laura? I want the truth."

My eyes never left his, pleading for some sort of explanation about what was going on. His lips parted slightly, as if about to grant my wish. Suddenly, our waitress appeared by our table, her eyebrows raised slightly at the sight of my hand on his. Both of his hands instantly retreated under the edge of the table, his eyes refusing to meet mine as they, instead, turned to the window beside our table. I reluctantly brought my hand back to my lap, smiling reluctantly up at our waitress as she filled Derek's coffee cup and eventually disappeared once more.

"I have to get you back," said Derek abruptly, turning back to me and digging into his back pocket for his wallet. After throwing a couple of bills onto the table, he slid out of the booth, not even bothering to wait for me to follow him.

"Derek," I tried to race after him, emerging into cool air, the clouds threatening to unleash themselves onto the ground under my feet. "Derek, wait!"

He ignored me, slamming his car door behind him and not even glancing over at me as I slid into the passenger side. The car was shoved into reverse and Derek raced out of the parking lot, barely even looking as he pulled onto the main road and sped back to the library. I blatantly stared up at him, waiting for some sort of reasoning as to why he was acting so strangely. When I received none, I finally tried, "Will you please just tell me—"

"No, I won't," Derek snapped, glowering at a car that dared to turn itself onto his path. He passed him, accelerating in the process. "I shouldn't have talked to you in the first place. It was a mistake. You don't need to know about Laura—just forget about her, and move on."

I gaped up at his set jaw, his brusque words slamming into my chest. "Is that what you're going to do?" I couldn't help but ask, my voice threatening to begin trembling. "Just move on from whatever happened to Laura? Acting as though she never existed?!"

"It's not your problem, Jane," he retorted. "It's mine."

"It doesn't have to be—"

"Yes, it does."

I blinked in surprise at his defeated tone, and suddenly realized we were back at the library, the entrance just a few steps away. But I refused to leave the car, unwilling to just walk away from him. Ignoring my resolution, Derek told me, "Get out of my car."

When I didn't move, and continued to stubbornly stare up at him, he stormed out of the car, walked with angry strides over to my door and nearly ripped it open. His hand gruffly grabbed my forearm and he forcefully pulled me out, his harsh grip digging into my skin. My back was pressed against the backseat window, the smooth glass brushing against a slice of bare skin that had escaped from the bottom of my t-shirt. I opened my mouth to protest, but then Derek's face was inches from mine, his glare ripping through me like a stray bullet. "Go to work, Jane," he told me in a dangerously low voice. "Go home. Get on with your life. Forget about all of this."

He was so close that I could easily count each of his long, dark eyelashes. Mutely I nodded, all the fight rushing out of me with just one look into his intensely green eyes. Derek stayed there for just a moment longer, tightly holding my arm and gazing deep into my own eyes before he vanished, his tires screeching in protest as he hastily sped away from the library and out of sight.

As I stood there alone on the library steps, the first few droplets of rain dripping through my curly hair, I could feel his fingers continuing to dig into my skin, his warmth still so close that it took me quite a few minutes to remember the cold air threatening to wrap me up in its icy grip.

* * *

**Okay, that's it for this chapter. I hope you all enjoyed it. Thanks for reading, and don't forget to leave a review!**


	6. Chapter Six

**Well, I've officially been bit by the muse bug once more. This story just keeps breathing ideas into me, and I can't stop. Before I get on with the chapter, however, I just want to ask you all to please start leaving more reviews. Those are really what push me through writing these lines, these details that shape the foundation of this story. For those of you who have continuously left reviews, thank you very much, and please keep them coming. Well, without further ado, here is the next installment to "Home":**

* * *

The first weekend of the school year couldn't have arrived at a better time. Despite only having attended two days of classes, my teachers had refused to allow a moment to pass by without assigning homework or textbook readings or, in the special case of my English and Literature class, the brainstorming of a research paper topic. Although I had quite a few chances during my shifts at the library to work on my assignments, by that Friday night, I was forced to turn away from the soft, warm confines of my bed and, instead, pull an all-nighter in a desperate attempt to finish some of my homework early.

Using the dull light from my cracked, pale blue bedside lamp, I sat upon my neatly made comforter, textbooks spread all around me and a spiral-bound notebook resting in my lap. My unruly, dark curls had been thrown into a messy pony-tail at the back of my neck. I vaguely caught the bright red, blinking 1:15 on my alarm clock as I tiredly flipped through the wrinkled, thin pages of my Physics textbook. Chewing my bottom lip thoughtfully, my pencil raced across the page, jotting down notes about the general history of Physics for my next class on Monday.

Distantly I caught the muted sound of unfamiliar voices, their low voices creeping through the crack under my bedroom door. Nonetheless, my pencil refused to stop working, as these strange voices had slowly become a daily routine for my nights at my grandparents' house. If my prediction was, in fact, correct, then my grandfather would be passed out on his aging, leather recliner, some sports channel casting a dim glow across his wrinkled face as either the news or some sports channel was continuing on, completely unaware that their audience was fast asleep. My grandmother had probably given up on him hours ago, choosing to crawl into her own bed and get ready for an early start that next morning.

And, as it turned out about an hour later, I was right. After finishing my reading for Physics, I had wandered down to the kitchen, hoping for a quick glass of water before heading up to bed. There was Pappy, lounging out in his favorite, squashy chair, head lolled to the side as soft snores occasionally escaped his throat. The television was turned to ESPN, two broadcasters lightly arguing over whether it was a good move by the baseball league to suspend some Mets player. Unwilling to dispel the soft smile that spread across my face, I managed to gently tug the remote from his clenched hand and switched off the television, plunging the entire living room into heavy darkness. Ignoring the hastening of my heartbeat, my hands grasped a nearby woolen blanket and wrapped it tenderly around Pappy, making sure to avoid any sudden movements that would disrupt his slumber.

As soon as he was properly tucked in, I clumsily hurried into the kitchen, where the microwave light was, fortunately, turned on. Allowing the soothing glow to oust my mounting fear, I grabbed a small glass from one of the high, wooden cabinets and filled it with water, the pipes groaning quietly in the process. As I took a long gulp I glanced out the window above sink, only to be startled by the sight of a black car parked across the street.

Two days had passed since that disastrous car ride with Derek Hale and I hadn't caught even an inkling of his presence since then. Although I refused to acknowledge it, I couldn't stop myself from occasionally glancing around while I was walking through the empty library parking lot, secretly hoping to catch a glimpse of that familiar, gleaming black car before I was forced to return home. But, no matter how hard I tried to subtly search for him, it seemed that Derek had vanished from my life, refusing to relent to my strong desire to learn about what had happened to Laura. Instead, I had no choice but to continue on with my daily routine, ignoring the frustrating signs that things were, in fact, not as they seemed.

Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise that Derek had kept his distance from me. With the growing load of homework and my constant shifts at the library, along with helping take care of my grandparents, I had barely been able to take a breath before some other task was thrown in my direction. Boxes were still stacked in my bedroom, patiently waiting to be unpacked; that was why I had decided to try to get as much homework finished tonight, so I would have all day Saturday to get at least some of my room unpacked and in decent shape. Nana had been making not-so-subtle comments about when I was going to actually get around to cutting those boxes open, so hopefully working on that this weekend would get her off my back, for now at least.

Squinting out through the kitchen window at the black car, I tried to see if the driver was still sitting in his seat, or if he had wandered off. I had never once seen that car on our street before, and it hadn't been there when I had arrived that night, so surely there had to be some reason for its abrupt appearance in the middle of the night. But, it seemed the car was completely empty. Letting loose a sigh, I went to turn away from the window, when a dark silhouette suddenly shifted, capturing my attention once more.

Frozen, heart pounding, I searched for the figure within the looming trees and resounding shadows, but it had simply vanished into the night, forcing me to consider if it was a trick of the light. Surely I hadn't just imagined though, right? I had been so positive that I had seen s_omething _in that darkness, even though I could see with my own eyes that there was absolutely nothing wandering around right under my nose.

"Jane?"

A small shriek ripped through me as I spun around, glass slipping from my fingers and shattering upon the steel gray tile. Pappy stood before, blearily blinking and a look of great surprise overcoming his sleepiness. As I clutched my chest, heart racing underneath my fingers, I managed to gasp out, "You scared me, Pappy!"

"Sorry, darlin'," grinned my grandfather sheepishly. "I heard someone moving around in here—wanted to make sure it wasn't a bear or something," he added with a wink.

I tried to return his smile, but all that could be mustered was a half-grimace. Catching my discomfort, concern flashed across his face and Pappy asked, "Are you alright? You look pretty pale."

With a shake of my head, I replied, "I'm fine. I just thought…well, it's nothing." An inconspicuous glance over my shoulder at the kitchen window did not go unnoticed by my grandfather, and a confused frown replaced his grin. Catching this, I added, "Don't worry, Pappy. I'm perfectly fine. Now why don't you head up to bed with Nana? I'll take care of the glass."

Pappy frowned, clearly not convinced of my state. But, with one last look out the window at the shuddering tree tops, he sighed and nodded. Kissing my forehead, he said, "Get some sleep, okay, Jane? You shouldn't be up this late—you'll start going funny without any rest."

The irony of his words did not escape me, not even after I had collected all the shards of glass and puddles of water from the kitchen floor and disposed of them. Eventually when I was able to crawl under my comforters and rest my head upon my inviting pillow, I couldn't help but think to myself that maybe it was a bit too late to worry about "going funny"—after all, the first sign of cracking up is always seeing things that no one else can.

* * *

Boxes, boxes, and, oh yes, more boxes. That is all that filled my vision that late Saturday morning—thick pieces of cardboard, coiled chunks of packing tape, and so many handwritten labels that the loopy letters were beginning to meld together in one long, undistinguishable word.

The only development I had made on the boxes that had been stacked all the way up to my ceiling was the unpacking of my many, many books. Throughout my short life, I had collected a countless amount of books, either from yard sales or the clearance bin at the bookstore or the occasional present from a relative. They were all lined up now alphabetically on my two wooden bookcases, the cracked bindings just begging me to pick up one and begin reading. Unfortunately, I was forced to turn away from their desperate, seductive pleas and, instead, focus on the growing piles of clothes all around my room. Most of them had to be hung in my closet, or at least folded and thrown into my dresser, but it just seemed that whenever I made a dent in the immense amount of clothes, they just seemed to keep reappearing, leaving me drowning in jeans and sweaters and t-shirts.

Just as I was wrestling with a pale violet sweater that was determined to escape from being hung on its wire hanger, Nana appeared in my doorway, her eyebrows rising by the second at the sight of my disheveled room. "Having some problems?" she asked, amusement hidden terribly in her smile.

"Just a little," I grinned sheepishly, just managing to best the sweater and hang it in my closet. Turning back to my grandmother, I added, "What's up?"

"You have a visitor."

Frowning, my mind instantly raced through the faces of the few people I had actually met since arriving at Beacon Hills. After failing to remember if I had offered any of them my address, I continued to gaze confusedly up at Nana. "Who?"

"She didn't say," replied Nana, picking up a stray t-shirt on the floor and neatly folding it upon my comforter. "Apparently she's a friend of yours at school?"

Well, that definitely narrowed the list down. After offering a quick thanks to my grandmother, I hurried down the staircase, curious of who on Earth from school would actually show up at my doorstep. As soon as my feet reached the landing, I was startled to find Allison Argent standing in the foyer, curiously gazing down at a picture of my grandparents' wedding day. At hearing my entrance, Allison turned and greeted me with a beaming smile. "Good morning," she said cheerfully.

"Good morning," I replied, returning her smile shyly. "You look nice—have something special planned for today?"

Indeed, Allison looked rather striking in a pair of dark, lacey leggings and a pale blue sweater dress; the set of black booties fitted around her feet perfectly completed the fashionable outfit. As for myself, I was still in my cloudy gray flannel pajama pants and baggy, black t-shirt, a bird's nest was beginning to form on the back of my head and sleep was still clinging to my eyelashes. Needless to say, I had no choice but to feel slightly uncomfortable standing so close to the stunning Allison.

"Shopping trip," she shrugged now in reply. "Lydia and I are heading to the mall in a little bit, and I was wondering if you'd like to come along?"

To be honest, I was a bit surprised by the sudden invitation. Back in Portland, I hadn't exactly had a huge group of friends like most high school students—so the prospect of actually being invited to anything by someone my own age still left an odd sensation running through me.

Glancing back up at the staircase, I reminded myself of the catastrophe brewing within my room, and how Nana would be furious if I left my room such a mess. Sighing, I replied, "I'm sorry, but I'm actually in the middle of unpacking my room. If I don't get it done now, it'll end up sitting there for weeks on end—"

"I totally understand," smiled Allison. "My mom's been bugging me to start unpacking the load of boxes in my room, but I just haven't had the time to. But can't you take a break and come with us? You'll have a blast, I promise."

I bit my bottom lip, considering the choice at hand—Nana had been nagging me the entire week to get this done, and she'd surely be disappointed if she found out I chose to go shopping with Allison instead of actually working on my room. But it'd be so nice to get out, to actually do something _fun _for once… "I'm really sorry, Allison," I finally decided. "I really can't. Maybe some other time?"

Not even I had a hard time discovering the disappointment in Allison's reluctant smile. "Of course," she said, offering me one last sad smile and slowly inching back to the front door. "Well, have fun, yeah? Give me a call if you change your mind."

Seeing Allison turning away and closing the front door behind her, my regret only increased tenfold. It had been so long—possibly never—since I had actually been offered a chance to go out with friends and be able to act like a normal teenage girl. No responsibilities, no worries, no doubts—it was anyone's dream. Unable to stop myself, I rushed to the doorway, wrenched open the front door, and called after Allison's retreating form, "Allison, wait!"

Allison, just about to descend the steps from the front porch, turned, her face mildly confused as she watched me. "Yeah?" she replied uncertainly.

"I hope that invitation doesn't have an expiration date," I grinned up at her pale face.

* * *

If there was lesson I learned from that shopping trip, it was that one should never, ever go shopping with Lydia Martin and expect to walk away empty-handed, self-esteem intact. The red-head was clearly not thrilled that I had been invited by Allison to tag along, evidenced by her initial reaction at my arrival with Allison in the Macy's parking lot. When Allison had tried to introduce us, Lydia had simply offered me a fake smile and, without bothering to wait for my response, flipped her perfectly curled, strawberry-blonde hair right in my face.

Not exactly a positive start to the day, but I tried my hardest to shrug it off. In the beginning, as Allison and Lydia searched through the racks in the junior department at hyper speed, I mostly kept to myself, glancing curiously at a random blouse or pair of jeans before blanching at the price tag. The library didn't exactly hand out hefty pay checks, and my grandparents just barely had enough money to pay the bills; how on Earth could I pay for some decorative t-shirt or embroidered jeans when I could barely afford my own gas? So, I settled to just offer my opinion when Allison asked for it, and stay in the background, which Lydia would surely appreciate, right?

As it turned out, wrong. As Allison was lost in a sea of clothing in the changing room, Lydia turned me to just as I was cocking an eyebrow at some neon pink piece of clothing that supposedly was long enough to be a skirt. "You don't know much about style, do you?" she asked bluntly.

I blinked in surprise. After a quick glance down at my outfit, I was sure I looked alright. I mean, it wasn't anything special—just a plain, dark blue, long-sleeved shirt and my favorite pair of jeans, along with my black, leather boots—but it wasn't as horrible as Lydia was making it out to be, right?

Catching my shock, Lydia sighed, shaking her head, and, taking my forearm, dragged me over to a nearby rack full of vibrant blouses. Ignoring my stammered confusion, she randomly picked up a bright green shirt with claw-marks ripped through its entire lower half. After holding it up to my torso for just a second, Lydia wrinkled her nose in disgust and threw it back on the rack. After rifling through a few more, she came upon tight-looking tank top, cut rather low, with various layers of slinky, ink-black material flowing around the midriff. Lydia smiled in satisfaction and shoved it into my hands. "Try this on," she ordered as she led me back to the changing rooms where Allison was waiting for us, arms filled with a couple of dresses and looking positively confused.

Shooting Allison a look of desperation, I mutely entered a changing room, locking the door behind me and glancing down at the tank top in my hands. It probably wouldn't even fit and, even if it somehow did, it was hardly my style; low-cut and tight hardly belonged in my closet. My father would surely have an aneurysm if he had seen the shirt.

Sighing to myself, I reluctantly stripped off my shirt and, just as I was poised to pull Lydia's choice over my head, Allison's voice floated into my changing room as she was saying, "…wasn't exactly friendly. He barely even talked to me during the entire ride. I mean, the car was nice and all—a Camaro, I think—but some conversation would have been nice. You'd think a friend of Scott's would be a little more personable, right?"

"I'm not sure," came Lydia's thoughtful response. "I never even knew who Scott was until you started talking about him. We don't exactly run in the same crowds, if you catch my drift."

Shaking away the puzzling sensation of familiarity, I continued to tug on the tank top. Surprisingly enough, it fit around my chest like a glove, although it showed much more skin than I was used to. Pulling on the neckline uncomfortably, I slowly spun around in front of the mirror, searching curiously for a surprisingly lack of flaws with the top. As I glanced down at the price tag—not exactly the cheapest, but it wasn't as unreasonable as most of the shirts in the store—Allison continued to speak, her voice creeping in through the cracks in the door.

"Maybe you've seen him around before? He said his name was Derek Hale."

Ice filled my insides, my back stiffening at the sound of the far too familiar name. Breathlessly I listened for Lydia's response which, at first, was a sarcastic laugh. "I haven't seen him in a few years, but everyone around here knows who the Hales are—or were, I should say. The family was probably one of the richest in all of Beacon Hills; they were here even before my parents moved here, back when they could actually stand each other. Mom always said they were a bit odd though—always keeping to themselves, never getting involved with the community, even though they easily had the money to donate to some charity. They lived in this great big mansion for years until, a few years back, this fire broke out and nearly killed all of them. Derek and his sister were at school when it happened."

Allison's reaction probably arrived at some point, but it fell on deaf ears. Knees trembling, I collapsed onto the cushioned chair beside me, breath escaping me in sharp gasps. Laura had mentioned that it was only her and her brother left, but never...The horror of it all sunk deep into my skin, nearly forcing me to miss the loud knocking on my door, along with Lydia's impatient, "Are you almost done in there?"

* * *

As I had witnessed many times before, darkness had once again fallen over Beacon Hills. Storm clouds were rolling in, threatening at any moment to unleash upon us all. Mrs. Pollard had made sure to warn me to leave the library before the storm became too strong, or else I'd be stuck on the side of the road, in her words, "in that dinky car of yours." Unfortunately, it was my turn to lock the library up that night, so I was forced to wait until 8:30 to shut down all of the computers, turn off every single light, and make sure the library was, in fact, empty before locking the front doors. After a quick glance around the parking lot to make sure that I was, in fact, the only person there, I hurried out to my car, desperate to crank the heat up as high as possible and try to warm my frozen bones.

As soon as I approached the driver's side, I knew something just wasn't right. The car was leaning strangely to one side, as if…shaking my head in disbelief, I gazed down at the two tires on my driver's side, completely slashed to shreds.

"You've got to be kidding me," I mumbled to myself, still unable to take in the damage that had been done to my car. Who would do this? I barely knew anyone in this town, and yet some fool had to go and do this.

My hands fumbled with my backpack as I searched for my phone, only to find it nestled neatly in my front pocket, the battery drained. Flipping the lid shut, I threw it back into my bag, frustrated with my own stupidity of not charging it the night before. I barely used it, of course, so it was normal for the actual task of plugging it in to slip my mind. But now, when I needed it most, I was kicking myself.

Glancing back at the library doors, I considered running back in, even though my supervisor had warned me against doing so, as the alarms might sound, causing loads of stress for some poor person. With a heavy sigh, I knew what I would be forced to do—hopefully the rain would hold off for just a little bit longer to keep my long walk a dry one.

Setting off down the deserted road, I found myself wishing that I had a flashlight or something to light my pathway. There were no street lights, since the road was hardly used that often, so my walk was immediately plunged into pure darkness. My heartbeat raced in my chest, fingers clenching my backpack strap as a way to busy myself. _Everything will be alright_, I promised to my trembling self. _It'll be alright in the end._

Drops of rain began to cling to my hair, drizzle shifting to full-out pouring of buckets upon my head. I was still dressed in my clothes from that morning, so there was nothing heavy enough to block out the rain that was lashing upon me. Branches seemed to snapping all around me, the thick, luscious forest moaning in desire as I passed by. I kept my breath steady, holding in my strong yearning to break down into tears on the spot.

Headlights flashed abruptly behind me, the purr of an engine nearing me at a rushed speed. Just as I turned to look over my shoulder, the car pulled up beside me, the bright lights temporarily blinding me. Blinking in confusion, I was astonished to find the driver lowering their right side window, a familiar voice shouting over the howling wind and furious rain, "What the _hell _are you doing?!"

Squinting through the raindrops fogging my vision, a set of piercing green eyes peered up at me in disbelief. "M-my tires were s-slashed," I stammered out, cold seeping in through my thin clothes and freezing me to the very core. "I h-had to get—"

"Get in the car!" Derek snarled, his fury forcing me to jump into action.

Not even bothering to argue, I dashed into the car, throwing my soaked backpack onto the floor by my feet and finding myself face to face with the one man I had been thinking about ever since that morning. His jet-black hair was still slightly damp from the rain currently assaulting his car, flattened to his forehead just as mine probably was. Feeling his gaze upon me, I turned my pink face away from his. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Derek blink and turn back to the steering wheel. He pulled away from the curb and back onto the road.

As I glanced down at my shivering body, I realized that my clothes were soaked to the bone. While I had a tank top on underneath my long-sleeved top—not the one that I had bought earlier that day, but a plain black one—I wasn't sure if I was exactly comfortable stripping off my outer layer of clothing in front of Derek. But, as my aching bones and muscles pleaded with me desperately, survival outweighed embarrassment and I was forced to shyly pull off the sodden shirt and throw it onto the floor, on top of my wet backpack.

The car abruptly stopped, and I turned in confusion to Derek, only to find him shrugging off his black, leather jacket and wordlessly offering it to me. I blinked at it dumbly, and he added, voice growing with impatience, "Take it. You'll freeze if you don't."

My fingers wrapped around the warm leather, thumb just barely brushing his hand as I took it from his grasp. Still feeling slightly self-conscious, I wrapped the jacket around my trembling form. The collar emitted his scent—mildly reminding me of the mossy forest we were passing at the very moment—and I snuggled myself inside the oversized jacket, not even bothering to roll up the long, heavy sleeves.

"You said your tires were slashed," said Derek, breaking the silence and forcing me to gaze up at him in surprise.

Nodding, I replied, "Yeah. I didn't realize it until I left the library. My phone was dead, so I couldn't call anyone for a ride."

"Why didn't you go back in?"

"The alarm would've gone off, and I don't know the code," I told him, examining the ends of the sleeves of his jacket as if they were the most interesting discovery I'd ever made. "The security company would have called my supervisor, and it would've just been a lot of hassle for everyone. I would've been fine walking by myself."

At Derek's silence, I shot a curious glance at him, only to find him frowning down at me. "You could've been killed out here," he scolded me. "You're lucky I saw you before someone else ran you over."

Saying nothing in response, I curled myself onto the cool leather seat, hoping to catch some body heat before my chattering teeth became too obvious. Derek's hand reached out to turn on the heat, the rush of warm air finally defrosting my bones. "Thank you," I whispered, closing my eyes in pure relief. "For everything," I added. "You didn't have to pick me up."

Derek kept quiet, but I caught the annoyance setting his jaw receding ever so slightly. "Where's your house?" he asked.

"It's in River Park, just take a right up here—"

"I know where that is," said Derek, quieting me into surprised silence. Catching my puzzled expression, he added, "When I went to high school here, I had a friend that lived there."

Nodding, I went to glance out the window, but the undiluted obscurity that gazed back at me forced me to hastily turn away. Feeling the darkness within the car beginning to surround me, I did my best to keep my breaths even, to avoid Derek finding out—

"What's wrong?" asked Derek, taking a quick look down into my wide eyes.

"It's nothing," I tried to reply, but the untrusting expression that flashed across his face forced me to add, "It's just…it's going to sound rather silly, but…well, I'm afraid of the dark."

Silence was his response, but I refused to glance over at him, my cheeks burning in embarrassment at my childish fear. Surely he thought of me as nothing but a mindless child who shrunk away at the slightest hint of darkness. But then a sudden movement forced me to turn towards him, only to find him switching on the light, destroying the surrounding darkness and easing my racing heart.

"Thanks," I told him, genuinely heartened that he hadn't laughed in my face.

"You're welcome."

The rest of the ride was spent in a companionable silence, only marred by the relentless rain and the occasional pinging of Derek's turning signal as we began to near River Park. As we drove, Lydia's words began to creep back into my mind, reminding me of the strangely familiar, but disturbing history of Derek's past. Surely I should have mentioned that I had been informed of the fire that had nearly wiped out his entire family, right? But, something deep within me forced my tongue to be held, allowing my perceived ignorance to live on. After that horrifying fire, Derek had probably spent most of his life in Beacon Hills having glimpses of pity and sadness mingle in everyone's faces, a constant reminder of the single event that had ripped him and Laura away from his family. I, of all people, could understand the strong desire to keep those disturbing secrets hidden deep within.

"It's right here," I told Derek eventually as we neared my grandparents' house. The front porch light was glowing through the torrents of rain and fog, only a few steps away from me as I continued to sit in Derek's car. "Thank you," I told him for what felt like the hundredth time that night. "You possibly saved me from the common cold."

The edges of Derek's mouth twitched briefly as amusement flashed in his green eyes. "Keep it," he said just as I began to pull off his jacket. "You'll need it more than I will."

Smiling up at him gratefully, I zipped it up all the way to my chin and, after a hasty glance out the window, asked him, "Will I see you around?"

His jaw immediately clenched, and he quietly replied, "You do remember what I told you, don't you?"

"Of course," I replied. "But," I added, feeling an odd stroke of boldness flowing through me, "apparently I'm not the only one struggling with it."

At first, Derek didn't reply. He turned away from my cerulean blue eyes and frowned, mumbling something that sounded vaguely like, "You might be right." But, as soon as he caught my curious gaze, he said, "Get inside, Jane, and get some sleep."

My smile beginning to fade, I silently nodded before bundling my shirt and backpack into my arms and, with one last glance back at Derek, hurried out into the storm and up the front porch steps. It wasn't until later that night, when I was snuggling into my warm blankets and blearily looking at Derek's jacket, now neatly hung over my desk chair, that I realized it had been quite some time after I had found refuge in my home that I had eventually heard the familiar purring engine roaring down the street and into the night.

* * *

**Wow, this was a really, really long chapter. What'd you all think? Please don't forget to leave me a review and let me know what you thought! Thanks for reading!**


	7. Chapter Seven

**First off, I just want to thank you all for your wonderful reviews. I really appreciate you all leaving some, as it really helped me sit down and start this next chapter. Please keep them coming! Well, without further ado, here is chapter seven of "Home":**

* * *

"Good morning, ma'am. Wonderful morning, isn't it?"

I blearily blinked out into the bright sunshine, briefly wondering how on Earth the outdoors could look so warm and lovely, while just the night before it had been as if a hurricane had stomped through Beacon Hills. There wasn't a single bold cloud desperate enough to challenge the stunning, clear blue sky. A couple of bluebirds were chirping cheerfully, perched atop a nearby streetlamp and occasionally fluttering their delicate wings. And there I was, still half asleep and in my pajamas as the lanky, older delivery man smiled toothily down at me.

"It is," I replied, smiling tiredly back at him as I took the electronic pad from him and began to sign my name. "Much better than last night."

"Absolutely. What a miserable storm that was—my entire basement flooded, so the missus and I had to stay at our daughter's place. And of course the power went out, so we had to use these candles that smelled just awful. Wouldn't want to do that again…"

As the delivery man continued on with his stories from the night before, I politely nodded, placing the electronic pad back into his hands and waiting patiently for the small package that he was still holding under his arm. His rambles vaguely fell upon deaf ears as I curiously glanced over at the driveway, expecting it to be completely empty—my grandparents had gone off to church earlier that morning—only to find my car, all four tires intact, gazing back at me.

"…let's just hope that this isn't a sign of what's to come, am I right?" the delivery man was saying, his oblivious voice drawing me back to our conversation.

"Yes," I distantly replied. "Yes, of course."

The delivery man furrowed his brow, catching my ambiguous response, but said, "Well, here's your package. Have a good day!"

"You too," I said faintly, my eyes drawn once more to my car as he returned to his brown truck. Leaving the box behind in the doorway, I wandered over to the car, the prickly pebbles digging into the bottoms of my bare feet. It was, indeed, my car, midnight blue paint shimmering in the gentle sunlight and the tires seeming as good as new. How had it gotten here? My keys were still safely zipped away in my backpack, exactly where I had left them the night before.

Just as my fingers reached out to brush against the roasting rubber, I caught sight of a white plastic bag tucked away in the driver's seat. Frowning in confusion, I pulled the unlocked door open and grabbed the bag, which had some small box inside of it. After turning the bag upside down, the box fell into my palm; once it was turned over I read the label, a smile growing on my lips as I computed each letter: Nyquil Cold Medicine. A bubble of laughter formed in my throat, bursting quietly as I shook my head in amazement at the mystery that was Derek Hale.

Still smiling, I clutched the Nyquil by my side and, grabbing the box along the way, returned to my bedroom. As soon as I plopped myself down in my desk chair, I put the Nyquil away next to a stack of textbooks and turned to the strange package I had received. The label said it had been sent from Portland, but the only people left there were my father's old coworkers. Surely they wouldn't have anything to send to me, right?

But, as I used a nearby pair of scissors to rip open the tape and pulled out a steel gray, square-shaped case, déjà vu tugged at my heart strings as wispy memories occupied my mind. I unlatched the lock, opening up the case to reveal, at first, nothing but velvet the color of rich blood. But, as my eyes adjusted to the deep red, I found my father's Glock 22 staring back at me, a box of bullets tucked in beside it.

Being a police officer, as well as a single father, my dad always made sure to keep quite a few firearms in our house. With living in the city—even one as quiet as Portland—as well as the first-hand experience of what hardened criminals were capable of, came the constant concern of protecting me for Dad. Ever since I was old enough to walk, he taught me all about the dangers of guns, and how, when used correctly, they could be an incredible asset. On my twelfth birthday, instead of throwing a birthday party, Dad had brought me to a gun range to try out shooting a BB pistol; the next year, I found myself grasping a single shot pistol that was nearly the size of my own slender hands. Each year I graduated to a more powerful gun until, by the time I was sixteen, I could calmly shoot off up to 15 rounds with a Glock 22, my father's own favorite gun.

On my eighteenth birthday, Dad had promised that, if I ever went to college and he couldn't be a phone call away, he would make sure that I had that same Glock 22 in my possession, since, in his words, it was hardly safe for a young girl to be living on her own without some sort of protection. And now, less than a year later, that Glock 22 was gazing up at me, so meticulously spotless that only my father could have been capable of such cleanliness.

A folded note peeked out from the velvet interior; my hand instantly reached out to snatch it, greedily reading it in hopes of some sort of answers as to who had sent me my father's gun. In small, cramped hand writing, the note read:

_Jane,_

_Your dad made me promise that, if anything happened to him, I'd make sure all of his firearms went to you. I'm talking with a lawyer now about the rest of his "arsenal", but I managed to weasel this out to you. Hope all is well. Write me a letter some time if you get the time. _

_-Pat_

Shaky fingers brushed away the stray tears on my cheeks; I hadn't shed a single tear since my father's funeral, and yet this short, uncomfortable note from his old partner had reduced me to a sniffling fool. Patrick Snow—or Pat, as everyone else knew him—had worked with my dad ever since Pat had arrived at the Special Victims Unit of the Portland Police Department eight years ago. Before him, my dad had run through a slew of unprepared partners who couldn't stomach the horrors encased within the files thrown haphazardly upon their desks every morning. But, the young rookie had worked well with Dad, despite the occasional spats between the work couple, until the day Dad had passed. Pat had been a constant fixture in my life throughout those last eight years in Portland, and had even made me promise that, if I ran into any trouble in Beacon Hills, to give him a call. Clearly he had wanted to remind me of said promise.

Swallowing the sizable lump stuck in the back of my throat, I neatly folded the note and safely slipped it under the base of my desk lamp. As I tried to take in a deep, calming breath, I turned back to the gun case. My fingers firmly wrapped around the black, metal grip and felt the familiar heaviness weighing my palm down. A shock of electric power raced up my arm, a sensation that I had grown accustomed to long before. With just one quick glance over at the unopened box of bullets, I knew exactly how I was going to spend that Sunday morning.

* * *

I lowered my stiffened arms, smiling serenely at the target hanging several yards away from me. While most of the shooters all around me had positively mutilated their paper sheets with their misjudged aim and overconfident shooting, my target simply had several holes blasted right through its center, its bleeding heart ripped out. It may have been an unfamiliar shooting range, but my aim had still remained the same.

Down to my last box of ammo—I had stocked up at a local gun shop on the ride over to the range—I reluctantly settled into a nearby picnic table. One rule Dad had taught me from the moment I had stepped into my first shooting range was that, whenever you were finished using any firearm, you had to clean it out, or else you might as well just throw it away. When I was younger, it had seemed like boring, tedious work that wasted far too much time that could have been used to shoot. But now, as I began to clean the bore of the gun barrel, the slow process brought reassurance deep inside me, bringing me back to a safe place where my father was closely watching over my shoulder, steadily pointing out any spots that I had left forgotten.

"You look just like your dad when you're doing that," came a rather familiar voice.

A grin instantly plastering itself upon my face, I glanced up to find the Sheriff, otherwise known as my uncle, smiling down at me, still dressed in his police uniform. I noticed gray was starting to creep into his ash-colored hair, along with the mounting wrinkles around the corners of his clear blue eyes—the same eyes, in fact, that I was using to gaze up at him.

"I'll take that as a compliment," I replied, still beaming at him. "After all, Dad was the master at cleaning his gun."

"That he was," said Uncle Jake, settling onto the seat across from mine. "He was always a neat freak, even when we were kids—made it even stranger when he started dating your mom, whose idea of clean was spraying Febreze on everything."

A laugh escaped me as I turned back to my gun, scrubbing out the hard-to-reach spots with my bottle brush. Just as a comfortable silence settled over us, Uncle Jake asked, "How are you doing, kiddo? Everything alright?"

I frowned down at my work, unsure of what a truthful response would be. Since I had arrived at Beacon Hills, which was about two and a half months ago, I had just about one true friend. Everyone else either wanted nothing to do with me or, for some reason, figured I should want nothing to do with _him_. The only few bright spots I had left in Beacon Hills were my grandparents and my studies, which, fortunately, took up most of my free time. If they didn't, I'd probably be stuck sitting around at home or at work, the budding stench of loneliness becoming more and more apparent as the minutes winded down.

"I'm alright," I finally replied, offering him a hopefully convincing smile. "Just…getting by, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," he said, nodding to himself and glancing around at the few people left in the shooting range. "It gets better though."

I had known Uncle Jake long enough to understand that he wasn't exactly comfortable with sentiment and heart-to-heart conversations. It was such a relief, really, that he had been left to raise a son rather than a daughter after the death of his wife. But, while these words may not have appeared supportive to a stranger, for me, they injected a light warmth throughout my extremities. "Thanks," I told him now, offering him one last smile as I began to rebuild the Glock 22. Eventually getting to my feet, I glanced back at Uncle Jake and said, "Well, I guess I better get back home to finish off some homework. Unless…you want me to stay?"

"Nah, you go ahead," said Uncle Jake, handing over his own smile as he stood. "I figured I'd shoot off a few rounds before Stiles' lacrosse game. It's been…a long day."

"Everything alright?" I asked, now catching the remnants of stress and exhaustion still settled into his face.

"We haven't released it to the press yet, but you'll find out soon enough I guess…we found the other half to a girl's body buried in the woods this afternoon. The one we were searching for last week? She was right next to the Hale house—I don't know if you know where that is—"

"I know," I cut him off, back stiffened at this news. Trying to calm my racing heart, I fearfully asked, "Do…do you know who the girl is?"

Uncle Jake shook his head, replying, "Not yet. But we'll probably find out tomorrow morning at the latest. Poor girl—she couldn't have been a few years older than you. Already made an arrest—Derek Hale, I doubt you've heard of him, he used to live here until about six years ago. Kid always seemed like trouble, if you ask me. As soon as he came back here, the girl's body turned up. A little bit too coincidental, you know what I mean?"

He glanced down at my face, expecting a nod, but all he would find was wide eyes and a gaping mouth. Surely this couldn't be true…there's no way Derek could be arrested for murder. He hardly seemed like an upstanding citizen—I'm sure there were quite a few speeding tickets tucked away in his file at the DMV—but he was hardly a killer. And the girl…there was only one person that came to mind when I heard about her body, and it was the one person I was positive Derek wouldn't harm. It just didn't make any sense, not to me at least.

"Where is he?" I asked him now, even as my mind was racing with even more tangled questions. "Where's Derek now?"

"At the station—we're keeping him there as long as we can until we can find some more evidence. Then we'll send him to county—why do you care?" he added suspiciously, his frown so similar to my father's that I was forced to turn away. "You don't…know him, do you?"

I hesitated before reluctantly responding, "We've talked a couple times. He's hardly what I'd call a criminal though—maybe a bit rough around the edges, but not a murderer."

"You don't know that, Jane," said Uncle Jake firmly. "You didn't see this girl's body buried by the side of his house—she was thrown into a garbage bag and thrown away like trash. How can an innocent person live right beside a dead body and not have something to do with it? Your father would be saying the same thing, you know that."

I pursed my lips in frustration at his logic. Although everything he was spewing was true, something just didn't feel right. I felt as though I was forgetting something, and it was bothering me to no end. But, before I could tell Uncle Jake this, he added to his spiel, "Stay away from this case, and Derek Hale, okay, Jane? This guy's trouble, and your father would have my head if he knew you were fraternizing with him."

A stubborn frown graced my features, but I reluctantly nodded. It killed me to lie to Uncle Jake, but I wasn't going to run away from Derek just yet—especially if this arrest was going to shed any light on Laura's death.

* * *

Sports had never exactly been on my list of hobbies. I was hardly coordinated or athletic enough to partake in any of the sports offered at school, not to mention I was far too involved with work, my studies, and making sure the house was in decent shape for when my father managed to escape from the police station. So attending sports games were, obviously, rarely found on my daily schedule. But, with one family member on the Beacon Hills lacrosse team, it was considered only customary for me to attend the first match of the season. At least, that's what Pappy and Nana had informed me of that night. They had both teamed up on me, clearly concerned that I wasn't out at parties and the movies and whatever else it was that people my age did. Their solution, it seemed, was having me attend this lacrosse match.

The game, in fact, wasn't too boring. It could even be described as exciting near the end when Scott McCall, Stiles' best friend, had somehow managed to score the game-tying and winning goal for the team in the blink of an eye. But, by the time the chilly night was winding down and all the players, coaches and spectators were spilling into the parking lot, I was more than ready to head home.

Cheers and yells broke out sporadically all around me as I slowly made a path through the thrilled crowd to my car. Frigid air seeped through the bulky, oversized leather jacket wrapped tightly around me; the rest of my jackets were still packed away in one of the few boxes I had left to empty, so I had been forced to use the one coat that was accessible—the very one that belonged to an innocent person locked away at the police station.

Yes, I had decided that night that there was no way Derek had been involved with the death of Laura. He had made it obvious to me that Laura's death had been anything but an accident, and that it involved something that wasn't anywhere near my reach. But I had seen the look in Derek's intense green gaze when he had told me about Laura's death—he had been devastated, even if he had been so desperate to hide his vulnerabilities. I could recognize that empty stare of loss and loneliness anywhere—it had been looking back at me ever since I had arrived in Beacon Hills.

As I ducked around a shouting junior boy who reeked of cigarette smoke and finally arrived at my driver's side door, my hands dug into my jean pockets, hoping fingertips would meet the cold metal of my car keys. But, all I stumbled upon was cloth—my keys were nowhere to be found. Frowning, I even tried searching through the jacket pockets, even though I was positive I had shoved them into my jean pocket as soon as I'd pulled into a parking spot earlier that night. "Damn it," I mumbled to myself.

"Problem?"

I jumped, startled at the kind voice that had floated through the chilly night air over to me. Turning on the spot, I was startled to find a woman standing by the car next to mine, her own keys in hand and her warm, doe brown eyes concernedly watching me. She was dressed in colorful nurse's scrubs, her wild, curly black hair bundled up into a pony-tail at the back of her slender neck.

"I just…lost my keys," I replied sheepishly. "They're probably over in the stands."

The woman sympathetically nodded, following my line of sight over to the dark, empty lacrosse field. "It's getting a bit late—do you need a ride home? We can give you a lift."

At the word "we", I noticed the teenage boy sitting in the passenger seat, his own thick, jet-black hair still damp with sweat. I instantly recognized him as Scott McCall, as well as the odd, confused frown spread across his face. I had caught him shooting me the same look when I had met him earlier, just as he was leaving the locker room with Stiles; his dark eyes had trailed down to my jacket for some reason, but his gaze had immediately turned when he caught me staring.

"It's alright," I smiled at the woman now. "They probably just slipped out of my pocket when I was sitting in the stands. Thank you though."

"Okay," said the woman, clearly unconvinced. Nonetheless, as she exchanged glances with Scott, she added, "Well, good luck finding them."

After offering her another appreciative smile and thank you, I hurried back through the crowd over to the lifeless lacrosse field. Moonlight was filtering down over the freshly trimmed lawns of the high school, casting an eerie glow over the rickety stands as I climbed through them back to where I had been sitting with Uncle Jake. There, gleaming innocently upon the seat bar, sat my car keys. Shaking my head at my horrendous luck, I snatched them and clasped them tightly in my hand.

As I clumsily returned back to the solid ground, I began to walk away from the stands, grass crunching under my boots as the sound seemed to fade from the fields. Casting an uneasy glance over at the dark forest that formed an ominous edge around the lacrosse field, I hastened to return to the parking lot. Soon I would be back home, ready to take on the challenges of the second week at Beacon Hills High. This damn forest would be in my rearview mirror, and I wouldn't have to fuss any—

"Jane."

Frozen to the very bone, the only sound that caught my attention was my heart, pounding harshly against my rib cage as I slowly turned on my heel to glance all around me. There was no one, nothing to explain for the soft whisper of my name. Frowning, I went to take a step away from the field when, again, I heard it: "Jane."

The jagged metal of my keys digging into the soft flesh of my palm, I fearfully stared around the field, desperate to find out what was going on. "Who's there?" I called out, my voice ricocheting through the massive trees and causing a flock of crows to hasten out of the forest, cawing disgruntledly, and disappear into the black night sky.

The bushes of the forest began to rustle restlessly, forcing me to jump in surprise and gaze wide-eyed at them, waiting for something, anything to emerge. There was nothing.

"Jane."

As the forest impatiently groaned in frustration, I took a tentative step towards the forest. Every instinct was begging, pleading with me to flee to my car, to speed away and never dare to look back. But this one stubborn sliver of my heart was whispering into my ear to keep walking, to stop being so afraid and take a chance, just this once. So, with a shuddering breath, I began to slowly, oh so slowly, approach the edge of the wood, until I was swallowed whole by the darkness.

After some blinking, I was able to somehow see through the thick obscurity of the forest and catch sight of the massive trees looming high above me, as well as the moss-covered roots that dug deep into the rich earth just underneath my boots. My hands trembled by my side, forcing me to clench them in tight, shuddering fists. Swallowing my nauseating fears, I tremulously said aloud, "Hello?"

As if on cue, a glowing pair of crimson red eyes gazed luminously at me through the fog and darkness that was threatening to consume me. Panic pierced my insides as they seemed to widen, crunching leaves and snapping branches approaching me with each step of the red-eyed monster. As it neared me, I tried to scream at my body to move, to run, but it was frozen in absolute terror.

Soon the red eyes grew a colossal head, its long snout emitting the occasional ferocious growl. Giant, gleaming fangs sneered down at me, its mouth seeming to twist into an arrogant smirk. A thick neck followed the head, eventually sprouting a set of broad shoulders and developing into a massive body of a monster I had never dared to see before. It seemed to hold the form of a bear or wolf as it slowly approached me on its four legs, hungry eyes never glancing away from my horrified face. When it was only a couple yards away, the monster stopped, rearing back onto its hind legs and unleashing a savage roar that turned my blood ice cold.

My foot finally managed to unglue itself from the ground, allowing me to take a hurried step away from the beast, only to have my other foot snag on a thick root that forced me to tumble down to the hard, frozen ground. The monster seemed to chuckle in cold amusement as it neared me, muscular arm raised high into the night air, long claws poised to swoop in for the kill.

A blur of black suddenly barreled into the side of the beast, knocking it away from me and momentarily disorienting the monstrosity. The blur halted for just a moment, revealing the form of a tall man, although his own claws were sprouting from his fingers and course, thick black hair seemed to crawl down his animalistic face. His eyes were shrouded in darkness, but an electric glow seemed to emitting from them. A horrendous roar ripped through the air as the man before me seemed to gear himself for a battle.

The monster turned its attention to its intruder, furious snarls issuing from the back of its throat. It's rival, however, seemed hardly as petrified as I was; in fact, it took a couple of steps toward the beast, only to gradually retreat. It was only when the monster took an impatient step back to the contender that he instantly disappeared into the darkness, the monster hastily on his heels. As their wild roars and howls continued to resound throughout the forest, I remained frozen on the forest floor, gasping for air and wondering what the _hell _had just happened.

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**Okay, so, that's it for chapter seven. What'd you all think? I know, I know, not a lot of Derek, but you'll see him soon again, I promise! And I know you all are probably thinking that Jane is an absolute idiot for going into the forest, but she's human, after all—she's meant to make the occasional stupid mistake, right? Thank you all for reading, and please leave a review!**


	8. Chapter Eight

**Okay, so I know it's only been a day since I posted the last update, but I really want to keep this story going, and make sure that you guys don't become disinterested. Well, without further ado, here is the next installment of "Home":**

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Sleep was stubbornly eluding me that night. Shadows flitted across my walls as the occasional flicker of passing headlights set my bedroom ablaze. No matter how many times I tossed and turned within the safe, warm comforts of my bed, my eyes remained wide open, blankly gazing up at my ceiling as flashes of crimson red eyes, frightening fangs, and a horrendous, animalistic roar being unleashed passed right before me.

When I had finally returned home late that night to Pappy's snores, I had silently tip-toed up to my bedroom, hastily grabbed a random pair of pajamas, and headed into the bathroom. As soon as the light flickered on, I dared to look into the vanity mirror and was instantly staggered by the reflection blankly starting back at me.

Wide, fear-filled eyes overpowered my face, terror clawing with the deep cerulean blue. My skin was ashen and cold to my trembling touch; an endless amount of thin, red scratches marred my round cheeks, most likely from the stray branches that had raked their spindly fingers across my flesh as I had sprinted through the forest back to my car. Dead, withered leaves were knotted into my tangled hair, crumbling under the slightest pressure of my fingertips. Short, gasping breaths escaped from my parted lips as glowing red eyes narrowed down at me through the fogged glass. Bile rose to the back of my throat and only a moment later I was vomiting into the toilet, my retching noises filling the entire bathroom.

Wincing at the memories of those gruesome sounds of heaving resounded throughout my mind, I forcefully dragged my covers up above my head and tightly closed my eyes, willing myself to sleep. But it was not destined for me to find any peace that night—I continued to lay awake, thoughts racing through my head as each minute ticked by.

I wasn't crazy. I knew what I had seen, and I was positive that none of it had simply been a figment of my imagination. As I stared into the obscurity of my makeshift cocoon, I could even still catch the rancid stench of the monster's breath—metallic and rotten. And how could I possibly forget the man who had managed to save me? Or, maybe not a man—even in the dim glow of the moonlight, I could easily make out the animalistic features of something that was clearly inhuman. Dark, curly fur had stolen down from his temples all the way down his strong jaw. His brow had been rigid and harsh, mutated so that it hardly could be considered human any longer. But most obvious had been his eyes, which had glowed some unidentifiable color within the darkness of the forest—as if someone had injected burning fire directly inside of them.

Whatever had happened that night in the woods, it obviously wasn't something I could consider as a normal occurrence. But who could I honestly tell? My grandparents, who were already so concerned about my mental state after the recent death of my father? No, surely not. Uncle Jake? He already had so much on his plate—he didn't need the stench of this staining his uniform either. Perhaps Allison or Stiles? I already had such a difficult time finding friends; maybe it wasn't the best idea to frighten the few I had now with tales that should only be saved for the darkest of nightmares.

One other name came to mind, the same that had been haunting my thoughts for more than a week now. For some reason, my thoughts continued to circle around him, whispering lowly into my ear that he would believe me, that the idea of shipping me off to a mental hospital wouldn't flit through his mind. Yes, Derek Hale would be able to help me—I was positive of it now.

But how on Earth was I supposed to talk to him? At that moment, he was probably still sitting at the Sheriff's station, waiting to be sent to County the next morning. Uncle Jake would refuse to allow me to see him, let alone actually speak to him alone, but there was one person who could help me…

Just as a plan was beginning to formulate within my mind, my alarm clock flicked to 4:17. Only a couple more hours until I would be forced to get out of bed and ready myself for school. And then only a few more would have to tick by until, hopefully, I would finally be able to tell someone about this nightmare that I refused to wake up from.

* * *

"I need your help."

Stiles blinked up at me, his mouth filled to the brim with the suspiciously orange, fried chicken strips that the cafeteria was serving that day. His cheeks were so stuffed with chicken that I was momentarily reminded of a brown-eyed chipmunk that I had nearly run over in my rush to get to school that morning. Shaking the memories from my mind, I took a seat besides Stiles who, before I had decided to join, had been sitting all by his lonesome self. His best friend, Scott, must have been only a short distance away, since he and Stiles seemed to be attached to the hip these days.

The cafeteria was buzzing that day, not with the news of Derek Hale's arrest, but with the developments of the assault of some innocent man in one of the school buses the night before, as well as a possibility of a police-instated curfew. I had caught sight of the fountain of blood that had spewed itself upon the walls of the bus that morning as I'd hurried to my first class; while most people had been close to vomit and tears as the sight of the horrendous amount of blood, I'd barely blinked an eye. Growing up with a police officer as your father automatically awarded the chance to stumble on a countless amount of crime scene photos that were more horrendous than the next—your skin grew thicker with each curious glance.

After a hefty swallow of his food, Stiles thickly replied, "What's up? And what happened to your face?"

I grimaced, knowing exactly what he'd meant: the tiny scratches scattered all over my cheeks and nose had barely disappeared that morning, and had granted me endless curious glances from both my teachers and classmates. "What do you know about Derek Hale?" I asked him firmly, tucking a jeans-clad leg under my bottom as I gazed fixedly at my cousin.

Stiles, who had just moved his hand to reach for another chicken strip, froze. Slowly he turned his face back to mine, jaw set and suspicion rising to his face. His expression was so similar to Uncle Jake's that I couldn't help but wince at the sight of it. Finally he said vaguely, "Not that much. Just, you know, the basics about what happened to his family. Why—"

"Come on, Stiles," I interrupted him, unwilling to back down this time. "You and I both know you've been listening to your dad's police radio since you were a kid. You know all about how Derek was arrested yesterday and—"

"Alright, fine," he snapped. "Let's say that I do know that Derek was arrested and then released last night. It doesn't mean that I'm going to tell you anything—Dad gave me strict orders not to mention a word to you, saying that he doesn't want you getting involved with him. And, let's face it, he's right, since the guy's nothing but trouble and an absolute douche, if you ask me."

Just as Stiles opened his mouth to continue, I cut him off, a frown building on my face as I repeated, "He was released last night?"

My cousin halted in mid-motion of continuing with his rant about Derek, some color draining from his boyish face as he slowly realized what he had just let slip. "N-no, that's not what I meant…it was a, er, figure of speech, yeah." But, when he saw the rigid stubbornness refusing to relent from my eyes, he mumbled to himself, "Damn it."

"Uncle Jake was sure he was guilty though," I said. "They had the body right by his house. What changed?"

"They found animal hair on the girl's body last night," replied Stiles reluctantly. "They're guessing it was some mountain lion that killed her. And they identified the body—it's Laura Hale, Derek's—"

"Sister," I finished without thinking. Stiles frowned in surprise at me, but nodded.

Disappointment shrouded itself within my body, along with the familiar feeling of grief. A small, naïve sliver of my heart had been hoping, praying that maybe Derek had been wrong—that Laura had just gone missing, and we'd be able to bring her back to Beacon Hills. Her death just seemed so unfair to this world—she was a good person, the only family Derek had left and one of the few people that I could bring myself to trust here in this sleepy town. But now we had been stripped of her clean, with only the whispers of her presence and soul as the only inkling that she had ever been alive.

Shakily I got to my feet, not even bringing myself to offer a weak smile to Stiles as I went to leave him to his lunch. But suddenly a hand reached for my forearm, stopping me in my tracks. Turning slowly, I found myself gazing down at my cousin's concerned face. "Jane, I don't want you going to find this guy. Whatever he's involved with isn't good news, and you don't need to get involved in any of it. I don't even know how you even met him—"

"I was friends with his sister," I told Stiles abruptly. "She was a good person, and she didn't deserve whatever happened to her. And Derek didn't deserve to lose the last bit of family he had left—I'm not just going to sit by and watch him go through…whatever this is alone."

Stiles opened his mouth, a quick response waiting breathlessly at the tip of his tongue when his voice simply vanished from the tense air between us. Slowly he released his grip on my arm and, with an appreciative nod, I turned on my heel and disappeared through the cafeteria doors, ready to take a much-needed trip to the burned remnants of the Hale residence.

* * *

Since my lunch period was my last of the day, I was easily able to slip away from Beacon Hills High and begin my search for where the Hale House was located. My first instinct was to try and call Uncle Jake, since he, as the local Sheriff, would have to know where the old building could be found, right? But that idea was hastily squashed, as Uncle Jake would have nothing but suspicions as to why I needed the address the day after Derek was released from police custody.

My next thought was, in fact, a memory of a certain article I had read that first night I had met Derek, when he had caught me snooping through Laura's research. Certainly the library would have some record as to the address of the Hale House—which was why, at that very moment, I was pulling into my usual parking spot at the Beacon Hills Library and getting ready to race through those familiar front doors.

Fortunately for my search, Mrs. Pollard was not working that day; instead, Laci White was sitting behind the Information Desk, looking absolutely bored out of her mind. Laci, a local college student, had that familiar stench of thick perfume and an underlying hint of pot that I had grown used to since I had started working with her a month ago. Her dull green eyes glanced lazily over at me as I hurried over to my usual seat and snatched the key to the public records. "What are you doing here?" she asked, each of her words slow and drawn out as she ran her fingers through her thick mane of sandy hair. "You don't work until 4."

"I, uh, just needed to grab something really quickly," I smiled nervously down at her. "I'll be right back with this though, I promise."

"Whatever," replied Laci, already bored with me.

Not taking her disinterest too close to heart, I hastened through the shelves of books to the backroom, fingers trembling slightly as I shoved the key into the doorknob and entered the room. Fortunately, not too many people had been interested in the records in the past couple of weeks, so Derek's pile was still right where we had left it.

As soon as my long, annoying hair was bundled into a hasty pony-tail, I launched myself into the files, searching for something, anything that could offer me a hint as to where I could find Derek. A couple of corners sliced papercuts into my fingers and wrists, but I ignored them, continuing my pursuit. Soon a police report was within my grasp, a picture of a great house nearly burned to the ground paper-clipped to it. Searching through the handwritten words, I found an address that sprung me into a search for a map of Beacon Hills.

Once I had traced out my path and written some hasty notes onto a nearby slip of paper, I raced back to the Information Desk and returned the key back to its rightful spot. Glancing over at Laci, who was playing on her phone, I tentatively asked, "Could I ask you for a favor?"

She frowned, her fingers halting as she gazed up at me curiously. "What do you need?"

"Well, my shift starts at 4, but I really need to be somewhere and I'm not sure how long it's going to take—"

"You want me to take your shift," said Laci, continuing to watch me. "I can do it—"

"Oh, thank you—"

"—under one condition," she continued, surprising me into silence. "There's this party coming up this Friday that's supposed to be the biggest of the year. But I'm supposed to be working that night. If you would be willing to take that shift, I'd be more than happy to take this one."

"Deal," I said instantly. Laci nodded, and returned to her phone, a smile budding at the edges of her mouth.

After speedily returning to my car, I followed my handwritten directions through the Beacon Hills Reserve, otherwise known as the forest that held the monster that had haunted me the night before as I tried so hard to fall asleep. As the day continued to wane on, shadows were casting themselves throughout the forest, flitting over my car as pavement transformed to gravel and, eventually, to dirt. My tires weren't exactly meant for this terrain, but I continued to press forward, refusing to give up now. And then, only a moment later, a great building loomed before my car, causing me to slowly apply my brakes and stop right before the Hale House.

When I had been searching through those files in the public archives, I had stumbled across an old photo of the Hale House taken just before that murderous fire. It had certainly been grand and elegant, with a rich, old-fashioned brick exterior and a countless amount of clean, white windows allowing sunshine to filter through. Trimmed lawns had sprawled out all around it, not a single sprig of grass outgrowing its brothers and sisters.

But now, after six years of loss and decay, the house was simply a shell of itself. Only a quarter of the building remained now; the rest was replaced with nothing but dead leaves and the ashes of those who had perished. The brick had been burned so harshly that dull brown encased what was left of the once grand home. Thin rods of wood stuck out unpleasantly from where the roof should have been placed. And there, enclosed by a rickety, rotten front porch, was the front door, only a few steps away.

Taking in a shuddering breath, I turned off the engine and stepped out of my car, my keys jingling quietly within the silence of the dying forest as they dangled by my side. With each step I took towards the front door, my instincts screamed for me to run, pleading with me to give up and forget Laura and Derek and everything that had happened. But my stubborn nature refused to given in, and, soon, my trembling fingers were reaching forward to the doorknob.

Just as my fingertips touched the cool metal of the knob, it twisted under the pressure of my hand. The door abruptly opened slowly, revealing the familiar, frowning face of Derek Hale.

At the sight of Derek's tall, imposing form, all of my doubt of reaching out and finding him completely vanished. I now understood that this was, in fact, the right decision, that he would be able to help me as no one else could.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded quietly, his eyes searching my face for any hints of an unspoken answer.

"I needed to talk to you," I replied honestly. "About something that happened last night—"

Derek's hand suddenly reached out, grabbing ahold of my forearm and, with a gentle grip, dragged me through the doorway and into his home. I caught brief glimpses of the interior—thick layers of dust coated everything as the feeble boards of wood creaked under my boots—until Derek's face was suddenly inches from mine. Breathless, I watched as his hand abruptly reached up and traced one of the many scratches upon my face, his calloused fingertips as light as a feather upon my skin.

"Derek," I began, voice strangled as I struggled to breath with his presence so close to mine.

At the sound of my voice, Derek's fingers instantly disappeared, his feet taking several steps back as he frowned down at me. "What happened?" he asked, his own voice controlled now.

Heartbeat finally at a normal rate, I took in a shaky breath and replied, "I was in the woods last night when this thing, this…monster attacked me. I…I don't know what it was, but it wasn't human. It was like a bear or…or a wolf." As I spoke, I noticed a line of claw marks etched into the dying wood of the floor. Turning away from Derek and kneeling down by the scratches, I continued, "It was going to hurt me, maybe even kill me, until someone came and saved me. He wasn't human either, but he wasn't as vicious looking as the one who tried to kill me. I didn't get a good look at his face, but I just had this feeling that he wasn't going to hurt me."

My hand reached out to trace the claw marks, although they must have been made by a hand much smaller than my own. Swallowing the sick realization at who must have made these marks, I added, "He led the…whatever that thing was away deep into the woods. As soon as I got the chance, I got up and ran. That's when I got these." My fingers subconsciously reached up to brush against the scratches, which felt surprisingly warm and not as tender as before.

I turned to Derek, not exactly sure of what I'd find when I gazed up into his face. His jaw was set and his dark, emerald green eyes were narrowed down at me as he lowly said, "Are you sure you didn't imagine this?"

Breath escaped me as I was sure someone had slammed their fist into my stomach. Surely he wasn't…he couldn't actually be acting as though I was crazy, not like I had assumed everyone else would? Hands trembling now, I replied stubbornly, "I know I didn't. I'm not crazy—I know what I saw."

At first, Derek didn't say anything in return. He turned away from me, pacing across the wooden floor and occasionally running his hand through his thick, jet-black hair. "Why did you want to tell me this, Jane? What made you think I'd believe you?"

"Because you're not like everyone else, Derek," I told him, taking a step towards him. At the sound of my movements, he froze, turning to face me, an unreadable expression stretched across his handsome face. "You don't think I'm crazy or about to…explode like everyone else does here." Another step forward, but Derek didn't back away this time. "I know you may think I'm annoying or a nuisance, but I know you don't think I'm crazy. And you believe me…don't you?"

Derek watched me closely as I continued to come closer to him, but his feet remained steady upon the rickety wood. "Do I believe that you were dumb enough to leave the lacrosse game and wander off into the woods, nearly getting yourself killed—"

"Wait," I interrupted him, my own frown building on my face. "I never mentioned being at the lacrosse game."

Derek froze, eyes widening as he realized his slip-up. Mumbling to himself, he ran a hand over his face, massaging his jaw as if trying to come up with some sort of excuse on how he knew of this detail that I had never shared before with him. Being so close to him now, I now caught the similarities between the man before me and my savior the night before. It was such a simple realization, one I surely should have come to before.

I took one last step forward and reached out a tentative hand to his forearm, causing him to stiffen under my touch. Ignoring his discomfort, I quietly said, "You saved me, didn't you, Derek? It was you."

His intense gaze reluctantly met mine, and I could feel his iron-like resolve crumbling under my fingertips. Derek's shoulders slumped slightly in defeat as a sigh escaped through his lips. "You shouldn't have been out there, not with everything that's happening," he told me softly.

"What's happening?" I demanded. "Does it have anything to do with that man that died in the school bus last night? Or with Laura? Derek?"

Derek shook his head, taking a step away from me and my falling hand. Rubbing the side of his jaw thoughtfully, he finally said, "Are you up for a car ride?"

Surprised by this abrupt request, I couldn't help but warily ask, the memories of our last trip coming to mind, "Will I get the truth this time?"

He frowned, but nodded.

"Alright," I eventually replied. "Let's go."

* * *

**And that is the end of this chapter. I know it's a little bit shorter than my last one, but it's leading up to a chapter that I've honestly been dying to write ever since I started writing this story. I hope you all liked the interactions between Jane and Stiles, along with Jane and Derek. Don't forget to leave a review and let me know what you all thought! Thanks for reading!**


	9. Chapter Nine

**I swear this story is being somewhat of an addiction for me. Jane and Derek's relationship is absolutely fascinating to me, and I adore writing their interactions. I hope you all are enjoying this story, and really love this chapter. Without further ado, here is the next installment of "Home":**

* * *

The waning sun had long since dipped behind the vast wall of treetops by the time Derek's black car pulled into a local gas station. A large, flickering red neon sign crackled high above us as Derek parked next to a nearby gas pump and turned his engine off. Frowning as the sounds of his leaving had yet to reach my eyes, I glanced away from my open window and over at my driver, only to find him watching me closely, his forest green gaze unabashedly directed down at me.

"What is it?" I asked rather nervously, shy fingers tucking a stray lock of unruly hair behind my ear.

"You still have a chance to walk away from all of this, you know," replied Derek quietly.

I blinked up at him, mildly surprised by the morose tone, as if the thought of me actually getting involved in whatever had happened to Laura was truly defeating him. But, without a second thought, I stubbornly tipped my chin up and said, "You can't scare me away, Derek. I'm not a child—I can handle whatever is happening, I promise."

A doubtful expression crossed Derek's face, but he reluctantly nodded before sliding out of his leather seat and into the warm summer air. Through the sideview mirror, I watched as Derek slipped his credit card into the machine and, after waiting a couple of seconds, pushed the gas pump into the car.

Sighing, I glanced down at my hands, fingers fidgeting anxiously with one another. Derek had barely spoken one word since we had left his house, instead focusing all of his attention on the road stretched before us. It was only when we had neared the gas station that he had lowly informed me that, after he filled up the car, we'd be able to talk. So now I had no choice but to patiently wait for the chance to finally receive some answers.

When the red SUV pulled up in front of Derek's car, I barely took notice at first. But then I caught sight of a similar silver car parking behind us, successfully boxing us in. I nervously glanced over my shoulder at Derek, whose expression was stoic as he tensely took a step towards my open window.

"No matter what happens, stay in the car," he mumbled under his breath, his eyes never leaving the tinted windshield of the red SUV.

Nerves constricting my throat, I breathlessly nodded just as he returned to his spot by the gas pump. Through the sideview mirror, I caught sight of two men stepping out of the silver car, calmly sporting semi-automatic machine guns by their sides. Their gazes were switching between Derek and the man that had just began to stride away from his red SUV.

The tall, lanky man was at least my father's age, if not a tad bit older. His light brown hair was cut short, although stubble was already beginning to sprout all around his strong, sturdy jaw. A heavy, tan trench coat wrapped around his thin body, despite the tingling warmth surrounding us all. I instantly recognized the bulge on the side of his waist—a handgun and, judging by the size of the lump, one that wasn't just for show.

"Hello, Derek," smiled the man calmly. His sharp, pale blue eyes glanced over the sleek, black car I now sat in, his gaze pausing on me through the windshield so fleetingly that I was sure I had just imagined it. "Nice ride you've got here."

Derek refused to reply and, instead, pulled the gas pump out of his car and returned it to its holder. Nonetheless, the man took no notice to his reluctant companion's disinterest and began to walk towards the passenger side of Derek's car. "I see you have a friend," said the man, his gaze now fully upon me through the open window. "Why don't you step out here and join us for just a moment? I don't bite, I—"

The man reached out a steady hand to the car door handle, a faux friendly smile plastered across his lined face as he made to open my door. In the blink of an eye, Derek's face was inches from the man's as his own hand grasped the top of the door and firmly held it shut. The man's two companions shifted uneasily, as if they actually hadn't been expecting such an intense confrontation. Derek took no notice of them—his fingers continued to clasp the door, knuckles furiously white as his livid gaze narrowed sharply at the man. "Leave her out of this," he coldly said through gritted teeth.

Racing heartbeat thudding within my ears, I watched with wide eyes as the man was hardly intimidated by Derek's rage as he calmly smirked at the much younger man. "I suggest you adjust that attitude of yours, Derek," said the man evenly. "You are, if I might point out, outnumbered at the moment."

Derek followed the man's gaze as they both acknowledged the presence of the two armed men who were both now tightly holding upon their weapons. However, Derek scarcely seemed alarmed by any of these three men, and refused to remove his hand from my door. I, on the other hand, was not exactly ready to become a silent witness to whatever battle was about to break out between these men. Thinking fast, I reached a trembling hand up to the top of my door, purposefully brushing them soothingly against Derek's tense, long fingers.

"It's fine," I whispered to him, ignoring the curious gaze of our onlookers and uneasily smiling up at Derek. "Really."

He scowled, clearly not thrilled by my willingness to ignore his previous demands, but reluctantly nodded. As soon as his grip was released from the door, I pushed it open, stepping out of the car and standing toe to toe with the man, whose eyebrows had nearly skyrocketed up to his receding hairline. Nonetheless, he smiled pleasantly down at me and said, "Now, see, was that so difficult?"

Refusing to return his grin, I backtracked to where Derek was standing, my unblinking eyes never leaving the man's. As the man shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a flash of silver caught my eye by the man's waist. Just as I made to move back one more step, a gentle hand pressed fleetingly into the small of my back, ceasing my steps instantly.

"You know, Derek, I had been positive that you'd be lacking in company these days," said the man, carefully leaning upon the front end of Derek's car. "After all, people who associate themselves with you just seem to be dropping like flies, don't they? Your mother, your father, and now even your sister is gone—that's quite a vicious cycle you've got going on there."

All of the air had rushed out of my lungs at the cruel mention of Derek's family; fearful of what I'd find, I glanced over my shoulder, only to spot Derek's hand clenched tightly into a fist. But, as my gaze traveled up to his face, I was startled to find his smoldering stare fixed upon me, my face, my eyes. And then, right before my eyes, Derek's fist slowly relaxed back into an open hand.

I turned back to the man, who was also watching this exchange with some mild interest. Not a single emotion flitted across his lined face as he turned his attention to me, adding, "If I were you, I'd be keeping your distance from Derek here. After all, I wouldn't want to see someone so young and blatantly naïve _burned_ because they didn't know any better about the company they kept."

His infliction upon the word "burned" did not slip past me so easily. Fear forcefully squeezed my insides as its invisible hand reached up and dug its long, spindly fingers around my throat. But the warmth spreading along my lower back from where Derek's hand had just rested seemed to vigorously sweep it away. Allowing my budding courage to embrace my heart, I glared up at the man and quietly replied, "I can choose the company I keep just fine without your input, sir."

The man smirked, shaking his head at me as if I was a nuisance of a child who was in great need of a lecturing. Casting one last curious glance over at Derek, he went to return to his red SUV. But, mid-step, he stopped, glancing back over his shoulder at his forgotten, armed companions. He offered them a small, curt nod and, in the blink of an eye, one of them stepped forward and shoved the butt of his rifle into the driver's side window, shattering the glass and destroying the tense silence of the gas station. Despite myself, I jumped at the harsh sound, but Derek remained immobile behind me, coldly watching as the smirking man nodded at us, saying, "You two have a good night now," before sliding into car and driving away, the silver SUV following closely behind him.

* * *

"I'm taking you home."

I turned to Derek in shock, my neck creaking in protest at the sudden movement. After all, I'd barely sent one last glance over at my companion since we had left the gas station only a few moments before. But, that had been more out of respect for Derek's wishes, who hadn't said a single word since the departure of the three armed men, not even when he'd wordlessly cleaned out the shards of glass from his seat.

Massaging the kink out of my neck, I continued to gaze up at Derek's stoic face. "You can't do that."

"Yes, I can, and I will."

"But why? You haven't told me about the other night or anything else—"

"I'm not going to, not now," he replied quietly. "Right now, I need to get you home safe. That's my priority."

"Derek, you promised—"

"That was before," he cut me off, aggravation beginning to creep into his voice now. "But it doesn't matter anymore. Not after what just happened—"

"And what _did _just happen?" I couldn't help demand from him. As we had driven away from the gas station, I had been brimming with unanswered questions, ones that were now bursting out of me. "Who was that man? How did he know you? Why did he try to provoke you by smashing your window?"

"He's…an old family friend, you could say," said Derek bitterly, his jaw clenching at the very thought of him. "And he wasn't trying to provoke me—he was trying to scare you, to threaten you."

"Me?" I repeated, blinking blankly up at him. "Why would he do that? I've never met him before."

"And he wants to make sure you never see him again," said Derek. "In his mind, you're putting yourself in danger by being around me. He's not completely wrong—" Derek glanced away from the stretch of road before us and down at my face in hopes of finding any trace of fear, but disappointment flitted across his own features as he found none—"which is why I'm taking you home. It was a stupid move on my part to let you get involved. One that I won't make again."

I stubbornly frowned in annoyance at being treated like an insolent child, but Derek ignored me. Instead, he turned back to the road and began to turn into my grandparents' subdivision. I wanted nothing more than to continue to argue with him, but Derek's jaw was set—he was clearly not about to give in anytime soon. Instead, as he eventually pulled alongside my house and turned off the engine, I looked squarely up at him and asked, "That man…did he have anything to do with Laura's death?"

Derek visibly hesitated before reluctantly replying, "I'm not sure."

A spasm of fear erupted in the lower part of my stomach—what on Earth had Derek and Laura gotten themselves involved in? But, as I caught Derek glancing down at my face, I bravely returned his gaze and continued, "And, the reason this man believes you are so dangerous is…because of what I saw last night?"

He silently nodded, turning his intense forest green gaze away from me and, his empty hands by his sides, staring out at the unfolding, black night sky up above us. Stars were beginning to emerge from their slumber and shine their glowing light down below them. The moon had already risen up above the immense tree tops—judging from its size, the full moon would soon be fast approaching in a week or two.

"I'll bring your car over in time for you to drive to school," said Derek quietly, breaking the rolling silence that had enveloped us both.

I blinked up in surprise at him—school had completely erased itself from my memory, as my classes earlier that day seemed to have just been a foggy dream. Digging my right hand into my jeans pocket, I grabbed ahold of my keys and pressed them gently into Derek's large hand. "Here—so you don't have to break into it like last time," I told him, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips, despite my frustration with him. Although my brain was ordering my hand to return to my side, it continued to rest upon Derek's.

Derek stared down into my eyes, his fingers slowly clenching around both the keys and my petite hand. "Jane," he said softly, gaze still refusing to leave my own, "I'm not keeping you in the dark because I want to. It's the only way I can keep you safe. If you were to get involved, you'd be putting yourself in danger. You saw what happened last night—you have to see where I'm coming from."

Flashes of crimson red eyes swam within my vision, and I did my best to extinguish my fears. But Derek had caught them easily within his palm, his eyes narrowing down at me as he caught me red-handed.

"But what about you, Derek?" I asked him gently. "Who's going to keep you safe?"

It was as if my hand had become aflame right before our very eyes. His hand instantly released mine, keys still clasped in his palm as he ripped his gaze from mine. His shoulders were squared as he refused to even acknowledge that, only a moment before, he had been staring down at me with so much exposed emotions that our connection could not be ignored much longer. Instead, he gruffly replied, "I can take care of myself. I don't need anyone else."

Ice rushed through my veins as I blinked up at him, astounded by this sudden transformation within him. Swallowing the strangely large lump in the back of my throat, I mutely nodded and went to open my door. But then courage gripped my hand tightly, forcing me to, with my back still facing Derek, quietly say, "There's nothing wrong with asking for help, Derek. Everyone needs someone at some point in their life. It doesn't prove weakness—it shows strength within ourselves to accept that, sometimes, you might just need a friend."

Not offering him a chance to respond, I softly shut the door behind me and walked up to my front porch, not even glancing back over my shoulder as Derek furiously sped down the road, disappearing instantly from sight.

* * *

**Well, that's the end of this chapter. I know it's a little bit shorter than my other ones, but the next one will be pretty long, I promise. What'd you all think of my interpretation of Chris Argent? I wanted to show his intensity but not to the point where he's like Kate, you know? Thanks for reading, and don't forget to leave a review!**


	10. Chapter Ten

**Well, I have nothing much to say before I dive into this chapter, other than that I really appreciate all of the reviews you all have left, and please do keep them coming. Without further ado, here is the next installment of "Home":**

"Jane! Hey, Jane!"

It took all of my willpower not to cringe at the sound of Allison's cheerful voice early that morning at school. Two mornings ago, I had woken up with a horrid headache that had erupted into throbbing within my left and right temples. Over the past two days, the pain had crept all the way down to the base of my neck, settling there and constantly forcing my hand to reach back and massage the knots away. Even now, as I turned around in the parking lot of Beacon Hills High to reluctantly smile at the curly-haired girl who was bounding towards me, I felt the ever-present digging within my neck.

"Good morning," I told Allison as soon as she arrived by my side.

"Morning," she grinned, her cheeks flushed slightly from the jog over, as well as the growing chill skulking through the parking lot. Her warm, chocolate brown eyes blinked down at me and, as her grin began to slip from her face, she asked, "Everything alright?"

_How much time do you have_, I couldn't help but think to myself ironically. Most of my life had now been consumed by school and work, along with my responsibilities at my grandparents' house. My grandmother's arthritis had been acting up in the past couple of days and, since they had such a difficult time affording her medicine, I was tasked with taking over all of the household chores. The only time I was able to savor for myself was during those late sleepless nights as I was blankly gazing up at my ceiling, thinking over everything that had happened since I had met Derek Hale those few weeks ago.

Keeping to his unspoken promise, Derek had avoided me ever since that night at the gas station. To most, this would seem to be a blessing in disguise, since it seemed that all Derek could offer me was complications and even more headaches. And yet, I couldn't help but feel oddly disappointed as the minutes and hours ticked by, and still Derek was wiped clean from my life. Whatever he was involved in, Derek was sticking to his word and avoiding my involvement, no matter what the cost would be.

"Just a headache," I now shrugged, working overtime to improve upon my weak smile. We began to walk with the rest of the masses to the front doors of the school. "What can I do for you, Allison?"

"Well, actually, I was wondering if I could have your help on something," she said, her fingers nervously reaching up to fidget with the strap of her bag.

"Name it."

"Well, a…friend of mine is coming over to study with me today after school, and I was hoping you could—"

"Allison!" a vaguely familiar, masculine voice yelled out through the parking lot, causing a couple onlookers to glance around curiously. Just as Allison turned to face the person, I glanced down at my watch, hoping that the bell wasn't about to ring anytime soon; I'd already been late once that week, and I'd rather not make a habit of it, especially since I was still considered the "new girl".

"You forgot this," said the same voice, now much closer to us. Something about the tone of his voice sounded oddly familiar, forcing me to bewilderedly frown as I glanced up from my watch and gazed directly, with an instant jolt, into the pale blue eyes of the man who had stopped Derek and me at the gas station earlier that week.

Immediate surprise fleetingly arose upon the man's sharp features but, as soon as I blinked, it vanished. Instead, a small smile was planted across his face as he glanced over at Allison, who was beaming up at him, oblivious.

"Thanks, Dad," she was grinning, cell phone now tightly grasped in her hand. "Oh, Dad, this is my friend Jane—I don't think you've met before?"

"No, I don't believe we have," said Mr. Argent, reaching out a calm hand out to me. "It's nice to meet you, Jane."

"Same here," I replied, unable to even muster a smile as I tentatively reached out a hand to shake his. My breath was clogged in my throat, but I barely felt comfortable enough to blink, let alone clear my throat. After a few shakes, I tugged my hand from his grip, swiftly bringing it back to my side. The movement wasn't overlooked by Mr. Argent, who seemed to almost be smirking deep within at my uncomfortable demeanor.

"Dad was just dropping me off this one time," said Allison, still unaware of my discomfort. "My car's in the shop, but hopefully he'll be bringing it before school's over. Right, Dad?"

"I'll try," smiled Mr. Argent amusedly, seamlessly transitioning into the role of a loving father, and not the frightening man who had threatened Derek and me earlier that week.

My breath still caught up in my throat, I peered over at Allison, who was now grinning at me, as if she thought this horrible situation was positively hilarious. This time unable to return her smile, I told her distantly, "I'm sorry, I just realized I…left something in my car. I'll see you later though, okay?"

And, not even bothering to wait for a response or offering a more suitable goodbye, I hurried past the startled Allison and her father, roaming deeper into the parking lot even though my car was in the other direction. The only thought racing through my confused, aching mind was that I had to put as much space as possible between Mr. Argent and myself—that way I'd finally be able to breath in the cool air and allow myself to think about what the _hell _just happened.

* * *

"How are you today, Jane?"

The fluorescent lights within Ms. Morrell's office were frustratingly bright; they had fleetingly blinded me when I'd first stepped into the office. My head now only seemed to throb harder as I continued to sit in the muted green, plastic chair, the guidance counselor's desk only a couple steps away from my knees. But, as this was my first appointment with Ms. Morrell, I forced myself to swallow my agony and suffer through the meeting. After all, as soon as this was over, I'd finally be able to go to work and then home, where I'd be moments away from blissful sleep.

Trying my best to blink away the agonizing pain, I squinted my eyes at the dark-haired woman and willed myself to answer, "I've been alright, I guess."

It would be difficult for anyone to deny Ms. Morrell's startling beauty—her skin was smooth and the color of fresh mocha. Silky, black hair hung straight as a board around her soft face, her plump lips turned up in a calm smile. While her dark, almond-shaped eyes were cool and even soothing, she held a certain amount of power in her intense gaze. It seemed that it would take more than some teenage angst to rattle Ms. Morrell's cage.

"That's good," replied Ms. Morrell now, smiling evenly at me. "How has your transition been to Beacon Hills? You haven't stumbled into any problems, have you?"

"It's been as good as can be expected," I said. "I managed to find a job pretty quickly at the library, so, between that and school, I've been keeping pretty busy."

"I hope you're not feeling too overwhelmed. It can be hard…new town, new school in your senior year. It's a lot to ask of an adult, let alone an eighteen-year-old."

"I get by," I smiled weakly up at her. "I have my grandparents, my uncle, my cousin…they help me through it."

"And your friends? Do they help you as well?"

Oddly enough, it wasn't Allison's or even Stiles' face that abruptly began to swim right before my eyes. Instead, Derek's piercing, emerald green stare cut right through me, easily picking out my poorly hidden thoughts and emotions. Frowning and mentally shaking the vision from my mind, I returned Ms. Morrell's gaze and replied, "I'm not really close with anyone here."

"What about your old friends back home?" Ms. Morrell asked, her lips beginning to turn down in a puzzled frown. "Have you been keeping in touch with them?"

"I don't have any," I said. "It was always just me and my dad. My mom passed away just after I was born. She had some….difficulties with childbirth."

The guidance counselor's frown deepened as she briefly glanced down at an open manila folder resting upon her desk, her narrowed, dark eyes reading in the scattered documents before her. "It must have been…very difficult for you when you lost him. Especially in the manner that he was found—"

Flashes of puddles of crimson blood, surrounding darkness, and empty eyes assaulted my vision, causing me to visibly shudder as I fought to bury them deep within once more. Those memories had been hidden for the past month, but it seemed that even the slightest mention of them could trigger them. My hands clasped in trembling fists now, I gazed at Ms. Morrell and quietly said, "Please. I don't want to talk about that."

"Of course," said Ms. Morrell gently, her dark eyes refusing to leave my face. "But, you know, it is dangerous to keep all of your emotions, your fears, your memories bottled up deep inside of you. They always seem to have make a pesky habit of resurfacing when you least expect it."

I refused to respond, instead turning my stare down to my hands, which were slowly beginning to steady themselves once more. I worked so tirelessly to keep those thoughts concealed that their return had seemed to shock my system to its very core. Swallowing the lump in the back of my throat, I forced my eyes back to Ms. Morrell's just as she was saying, "Have you given any thought to college yet?"

Feeling my trembling dissipating within my body, I stiffly nodded and replied, "Yes. There were a couple of colleges in Boston I had in mind before…the circumstances changed." Clearing my throat, I continued, "But my uncle was able to give me a few ideas when I first moved here. I have the applications but I haven't been able to find the time to sit down and start filling them out."

"Well, if you need any references or have any issues filling them out, just let me know. That's why I'm here," she said. "Just out of curiosity, what did you have in mind for a major?"

"Nursing," I said. There was just a moment of hesitation before I added, "My mother was a nurse. It just seems like the right path for me."

A warm smile crossed Ms. Morrell's beautiful features as she nodded her head. "Children often strive to follow in their parents' footsteps. It's a cycle of human nature, I'm afraid."

I nodded in response. For some reason, her penetrating gaze forced me to turn my eyes down to my shoes.

"I guess that's all for today," she said, causing me to turn back to her face. Just as I made to stand, backpack in hand, she added, "Jane, if you have any problems or just need someone to talk to, feel free to stop by at any time. My door's always open."

"Thank you," I replied genuinely. "I'll be sure to remember that."

I had just about made it to the closed office door, my hand reaching out for the round, steel door knob, when Ms. Morrell abruptly said, "You know, Jane, you don't always have to face your problems on your own. Everyone needs someone at some point in their life."

My shoulders stiffened as those familiar words registered in my mind. Slowly I turned, blinking in surprise at the guidance counselor, who was blandly smiling up at me. "Something wrong?" she asked.

"No," I replied finally. "It's…it's nothing."

But it wasn't nothing, and Ms. Morrell knew it, and I knew it as well, even as I eventually was walking down the school corridor, shaking my head as those words continued to tug at my mind. Perhaps it was just my imagination, or a coincidence—it wasn't as if Ms. Morrell had been in the car when I'd rehashed those same words to Derek those couple of nights ago. No, it was just a coincidence, and nothing more.

Still continuing to convince myself, I continued through the corridor; since the last bell of the day had yet to ring, most of my fellow classmates were still locked up in their classes, breathlessly waiting for that abrupt ringing that would signal the end to another school day. I expected to see the occasional roaming student as I made my way to the front doors, and nothing more. But then, as I began to dig my keys out of my jeans pocket, I caught a glimpse of an all-too familiar black-haired head ducked down into a small alcove by a strip of blue lockers.

"Derek?" I gently asked as I approached him, but it appeared he hadn't even heard me. His forest green eyes were closed, shoulders slouched as he leaned farther into the corner. As I came nearer, I caught the subtle changes of him—pale, clammy skin, the deep furrow of his brow, the slight tremble of his hands. Frown playing on my lips at this exceptionally odd behavior, I tentatively reached out a hand to touch his left forearm. "Derek?" I repeated as my fingers met with the soft cotton of his gray, long-sleeved shirt.

His reaction was instant—Derek shuddered away from my touch, eyes blinking open as he turned towards me, mouth twisted in a pained grimace. "Get away," he growled at me just as the bell rang. His hand reached up to cradle his ear, as if the loud noise was physically paining him.

"What's wrong?" I asked immediately, startled by his brusque attitude.

Derek ignored me, mumbling, "Stay away from me," as he made sure to avoid brushing by me as he forced himself away from the corner and began to stalk down the corridor. Students were beginning to filter out into the hallway, but my eyes never left Derek as I hurried after him. "Derek, what are you doing here? What happened to you?" I demanded as my short, frantic strides somehow managed to match his long ones.

"I need…need to find Scott McCall," he managed to let out through gritted teeth.

Blinking in surprise, I opened my mouth to ask what on Earth he needed him for but, judging by Derek's pained expression, now probably wasn't the best time to be interrogating him. "He's best friends with my cousin," I said instead. "I can call him if you want?"

"Fine," retorted Derek shortly, continuing to slowly walk.

Sighing to myself, I grabbed ahold of his hand and, ignoring his growl, pulled him to the side of the hallway, out of the growing crowd. "Just stay here while I call him, okay?" I told him as I dug my cell phone out of my bag. I hastily dialed Stiles' phone number, ducking my head down in order to see the tiny numbers set upon the keypad.

Just as I put the phone to my ear, I straightened my sore neck, only to find that Derek had disappeared from sight. "Damn it," I mumbled to myself as I dove into the crowd of students, phone still plastered to my ear as I hurriedly searched for Derek. The phone ringed loudly several times before reaching voicemail. Grumbling in annoyance, I pressed redial and tried again. As the phone rang for the second time, I managed to step out into the balmy sunlight with the rest of the horde, Derek still nowhere to be found.

Honking sounded in the distance, interrupting me redialing Stiles' number for the third time. Frowning, I turned to the growing noises, only to spot Stiles' pale blue Jeep parked in the middle of the parking lot, blocking traffic as Derek was slumped down on the hard pavement in front of it. The familiar curly, black-haired head of Scott McCall was racing forward just as I hurriedly hung up the phone and followed him.

"Derek, get up," Scott was forcefully ordering him as soon as I neared them. At the sound of my footsteps, he and Stiles, who had bolted out of his car as soon as his friend arrived, glanced up at me in surprise. Derek, however, was glaring up at me, his face twisted in so much pain that a jolt of ice rushed through my insides. Abruptly he began to pull himself off the ground, narrowed green gaze never leaving my face.

"What are you doing here?" Stiles asked me furiously, rounding on me as soon as Derek was back on his feet.

"I found him in the school when he was looking for Scott," I replied, momentarily startled by his sudden rush of anger. Annoyance growing as he continued to angrily glare down at me, I added tetchily, "I was _trying _to call you to find Scott but _someone_ doesn't know how to answer their damn phone."

"Sorry, I was a bit busy trying not to turn your boyfriend here into road kill," he shot back at me.

Heat splashed across my face as I opened my mouth to retort that Derek was, in fact, _not _my boyfriend when Scott abruptly said exhaustedly, "Could you two please stop arguing and help me get him into the Jeep?"

Shooting my cousin one last glare, I pulled open the passenger door just as Scott helped onto the seat. As Derek quietly mumbled something to Scott about a bullet, I made my way back over to the driver's side, wrenching the creaky door open and beginning to shove the seat forward so I could crawl into the back seat. However, a hand grabbed ahold of the seat, forcing me to turn my glare onto my annoyed cousin. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Getting into the back," I replied, trying to jerk the seat up, but Stiles continued to hold it steady.

"No," said Stiles firmly, his narrowed eyes oddly reminding me of my uncle's.

"I'm not just going to sit by while there's something clearly wrong with him," I told him. "I'm going with you."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am," I said heatedly.

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"No."

"Yes."

"N—"

"She's not coming," came Derek's quiet voice, forcing both of us to silently turn towards him. His mouth was twisted into a pained scowl, his drained gaze directly on my face as he added, "You have to stay here."

Normally, I would have eventually given into their stubbornness, admitting defeat and stepping away from the argument. But the frustration from my headache, my second meeting with Mr. Argent, and the raw memories of that one night prodding at my tender mind caused my temper to snap. Frowning at Derek, I coldly replied, "You're in no state to tell me what to do." And, ignoring Stiles' continued complaints, I stuffed my bag into the back and clambered into the backseat.

Derek's narrowed eyes persisted in glaring at me in the rearview mirror, but I ignored them as I caught Scott offering Stiles a poorly executed expression of sympathy. "Just get him out of here," he pleaded.

"I'm not sure which of you I hate more right now," mumbled my cousin as he climbed into the driver's seat. Without another word, Stiles stepped on the gas, barreling out of the parking lot and leaving the school behind us.

* * *

**Alright, so this is finally finished. I'm not sure why, but I really struggled with writing this chapter. I'm just so drained right now with moving, I think. And I know it's not as long as you probably expected, but that's only because I chose to split this and the next chapter into two, instead of writing one jump chapter. What'd you all think? Any thoughts on what Ms. Morrell was talking about when she mentioned her father's death? And the bickering between Jane and Stiles? Please don't forget to leave a review. Thanks for reading!**


	11. Chapter Eleven

**First off, I want to apologize for how long the wait was for this chapter. School's literally just around the corner, so I've been busy prepping for that and spending some last minute free time with my friends. But, I hope this chapter will be worth the wait. Also, I want to thank you all for your lovely reviews, they really do keep my muse active while I continue to write this story. Well, without further ado, here is the next installment of "Home":**

* * *

"You, uh, don't clean much back here, do you, Stiles?"

I couldn't help but wrinkle my nose down at the disaster that, for only a few minutes, I had been sitting in, otherwise known as Stiles' messy Jeep. Old fast food wrappers were bunched up and thrown haphazardly all over the back seat floor, the remnants of gooey, plastic cheese still stuck to the wrinkled paper. There was a dark brown stain embedded into the seat next to mine, still freshly shiny in the waning sunlight. A smelly pair of off-white gym socks was far too close to my own sneaker-clad feet for my own liking, so I tentatively nudged them away with the toe of my shoe. A lacrosse stick was propped up right behind my seat, occasionally whacking me in the back of the head whenever Stiles decided to stop short.

"What was that?" Stiles asked distantly as he slammed on his brakes at a stop sign, forcing the lacrosse stick to slap my head once more. A sarcastic smirk played on his lips.

"Nothing," I grumbled, rolling my eyes at his immaturity. Just as I went to glance out the backseat window, I caught Derek's intense gaze watching me through the sideview mirror. Meeting his eyes through the mirror, I pleaded with him, "Would you please tell me what happened to you, Derek?"

At first, Derek refused to respond. Out of the corner of my eye, Stiles glanced over at his ill passenger, curiosity betraying his dislike for him. Eventually he replied, "I was shot last night."

Remembering his odd behavior in the school when I had reached out to him, I asked, "In the arm?"

Again, Derek continued to blatantly study me through glass, his unblinking gaze gradually beginning to unnerve me. Nonetheless, I stubbornly refused to give into him and waited for his response. It seemed an entire lifetime had passed by until he eventually said, "Yes." After another slow breath, he added, "In the arm."

"Was it the Argents?" I said without thinking.

This time, it was Stiles who glanced back at me with wide, chocolate brown eyes and a slightly ajar mouth. "How do you know about them?" he demanded furiously, shooting Derek a peculiar sideways, irritated look.

"She doesn't," Derek cut me off just as my jaw was unhinging to retort, "and it's going to stay that way. So I suggest you keep your mouth shut before you say anything else."

"Wait," I said, ignoring Derek's comments and glaring at my cousin now. "_You _knew? You knew about all of this, even when I was asking you about Derek being arrested?!" When he refused to respond, I continued to snap, "Well, you could have given me a heads up that you knew what I was talking about. Or, I don't know, let me in on what was going on—"

"I didn't want you to know," Stiles interrupted me. "You had enough on your plate as is, and, let's be honest, you're better off being in the dark."

"Don't I have a say in that?"

"He's right, Jane," said Derek now, causing my gaze to reluctantly turn to him. His neck was twisted towards me now, forest green eyes boring into mine. "It's better for you to know as little as possible."

Right at that moment, I wanted nothing more than to argue until I was blue in the face, until they both gave in and admitted that I wasn't some naïve, ignorant child who was forced to be excluded from the adult conversations. But, as I caught sight of the beads of cold sweat forming on Derek's brow and the ashen color spreading across his cheeks, I forced myself to bite my tongue and reluctantly nod. There would be a time to fight with them, but now was not it—our first priority was stopping whatever was happening to Derek.

As Stiles went to text someone on his phone, I leaned closer to Derek and quietly told him, "So, I'm guessing whatever you were shot with wasn't exactly a normal bullet?"

"What makes you think that?" he replied vaguely, his narrowed green eyes turning up from his rigid forearm and meeting mine.

"Come on, Derek," I said, shooting him an exasperated look. "Ever since I first met you, nothing has been even remotely normal."

Before he could respond, Stiles forcefully threw his phone away from him, annoyed with whatever response he had received and mumbling, "Come on." Glancing over at Derek, he irritably said, "Try not to bleed out all over my seats, okay? We're almost there."

"Almost where?" I asked him.

"His house."

"You can't take me there," said Derek instantly, slowly turning his head to stare at Stiles.

"I can't take you to your own house?" said Stiles incredulously.

"Not when I can't protect myself."

In the blink of an eye, Stiles pulled his Jeep over to the curbside, shoving the gearshift into park and, fed up, twisting his long neck to glare at his passenger. Ignoring their silent agreement to keep me in the dark, he demanded, "So what happens when Scott doesn't find your little magic bullet?" When Derek just shook his head, he added, "Are you dying?"

"Not yet," Derek eventually replied, forcing my own blood to run ice cold. "I have a last resort."

"What do you mean? What last resort—"

Stiles' words were instantly tangled within his throat as we both watched as Derek pulled up one of his long sleeves, revealing a sight surely ripped out of a horror movie. A bullet hole was lodged into the smooth, tender upperside of his elbow, the puncture wound still blatantly open and filled with some sort of clear liquid. While Stiles gagged at the sight of it, I leaned forward to get a closer look. The engorged veins surrounding the wound were pressed up against the surface of his skin, appearing nearly black in the dim sunshine creeping in through the Jeep windows.

"Is that contagious?" Stiles asked, desperately trying to breathe through his mouth and avoid even catching a glimpse of the sickening bullet hole. "You know, you should probably just get out."

"Start the car," ordered Derek lowly, ignoring Stiles' disgust. "Now."

"I don't think you should be barking orders with the way you look, okay?" snapped Stiles. "And, in fact, I think, if I wanted to, I could probably drag your—"he abruptly paused, glancing back at me nervously before continuing, "your ass into the middle of the road and leave you there for dead."

"Come on, Stiles," I tried to plead with him. To be honest, I was worried—Stiles didn't have an ounce of fear right now within his voice, and his animosity towards Derek couldn't have been more apparent. If he left Derek on the side of the road, I would stay with him in a heartbeat, there was no doubt about that. However, that didn't exactly mean I had any idea on what to do with him, let alone how to stop whatever was happening within his inflated veins.

"No, Jane," Stiles snapped, turning his glare towards me. "I have no idea how you even know this guy, let alone actually care about him enough to want to _help _him. But, in case you haven't realized it yet, he's nothing but trouble, and only cares about himself."

"That's not true," I said stubbornly.

My cousin briefly turned away from me, gazing straight ahead as he blatantly rolled his eyes at my stubbornness. But, as he returned his glare back at me, Stiles barked, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just leave you both here and go on with my life."

At first, I didn't respond, allowing my words to weigh down on my tongue before I opened my mouth. "Because family doesn't do that to each other, Stiles," I quietly replied. "If our roles were switched, I wouldn't even think about driving away. And I know you don't have it in you—no matter what you say, it doesn't matter. In your heart, Stiles, you're better than that."

Stiles continued to gaze down at me, although his glare gradually began to soften under my determined gaze. Eventually he sighed, grumbling to himself as he turned his car key into the ignition, restarting the engine and returning to the main road.

As I let out a breath, I caught Derek turning his neck to stare down at me. I offered him a weak smile, which he returned with a curt nod before continuing to watch the stretch of road before him.

* * *

The sun had just begun to dip below the dark wall of tree tops as Stiles pulled the Jeep over once again. This time, though, it wasn't because he was rigidly determined to throw us both out on the side of the road. Instead, I was forced to step out of the car to take what must have been the tenth call from my boss, who must have been nothing short of furious with me. In my horror of what had happened to Derek, I had completely forgotten about my impeding shift at the library that afternoon, let alone actually remembering to call and let the library know that I wasn't going to show up to work. So Mr. Daniels wasn't particularly happy when, as soon as I had put enough distance between myself and the Jeep to where I wouldn't be overheard, I had eventually answered the phone.

"Sir, I'm so sorry," I was trying to tell him as I thread my trembling fingers through my unruly hair. "I just had…had a family emergency come up," I awkwardly finished as I glanced back at the Jeep. From the back, it looked like Stiles was on the phone with someone who was hopefully Scott.

"And you couldn't bother to pick up your phone the eight times I called you?" Mr. Daniels shot at me sarcastically. "You really expect me to believe that, Jane?"

Feeling lump forming at the back of my throat, I swallowed and still couldn't bring myself to respond.

"Listen, Jane, I like you," my boss was saying. "You're a smart kid, someone who I can normally depend on. But you need to get your priorities straight—Laci was kind enough to let me know that she needed to take your shift last night. Is that correct?"

"Well, I had another, er, emergency," I told him, realizing my lame excuses were beginning to sound repetitive.

"Uh-huh," said Mr. Daniels, evidently as unconvinced as I would be if I was in his shoes. "Well, tomorrow afternoon we'll have a good conversation about whether you're still as good a fit as I thought you were when I first hired you."

After a few more strained words, I hung up my phone and shoved it deep into my pocket. If only I could do the same with my growing list of problems taking over my life—just burrow them deep in my pocket and forget about them completely. Shoving these thoughts aside, I brushed my palms across my damp cheeks and turned around, only to nearly stumble into a hunched over Derek, who was watching me closely.

"What are you doing out here?" I asked him instantly, taking in his worsening appearance. His skin, if possible, had grown only even paler, and deep circles were beginning to form under his tired, forest green eyes. His hand was still clutching his forearm, dried blood caked to his open palm. "You shouldn't be on your feet."

"I was just…checking up on you," replied Derek reluctantly. His gaze was now down at his black tennis shoes, avoiding my curious stare. Eventually it returned to my face, brushing over my wet cheeks. "What's wrong?"

"Oh," I said, running another hand over my face. "It's nothing. Just…my boss. He wasn't happy that I skipped out on work today."

At first, Derek said nothing, silently watching me. I gazed up at him interestedly, as a whole slew of emotions were now implanted in his eyes. It seemed the bullet hole lodged in his arm had unlatched the hardened, steel door that normally locked up his inner workings. Unfortunately, before I could register any of them within my own mind, Derek blinked, and they instantly vanished. "You shouldn't have come. It wasn't worth you losing your job."

"Yes, it was," I replied immediately, refusing to turn away from his watchful eyes. "I wouldn't have been able to concentrate on my work anyways. I'd have been too busy worrying about you."

Something deep within Derek's eyes seemed to stir but, before I could put too much thought into it, agony flashed across his face just before his knees gave out, his body pitching forward onto mine. Hastily I threw my arms up, grabbing ahold of his sides and somehow helping him stay on his feet. "Careful," I said, offering him a weak smile as my dark blue eyes found his.

Derek's face was now centimeters from mine, his intense green gaze boring down directly into mine. His mouth was twisted into a painful grimace but, as each breathless moment passed by, it gradually began to soften. My heart pounded against my rib cage, heat creeping up my neck and settling within my cheeks. His soft breath grazed across my parted lips, causing instant warmth to spread throughout my lower stomach. I felt his eyes searching mine, as if completely unsure on how to tread. To be honest, in that hushed moment, I would have allowed him to do whatever he wanted. I was completely within his command, and I wasn't even sure if he realized it.

"Come on, we've got to go!" Stiles' voice ripped apart my trance, forcing Derek to immediately straighten up, forcefully putting as much distance between us as possible.

Flushing, I refused to meet his eyes as I quietly asked him, "Where are we going?"

"The animal hospital," he replied softly, not even daring to glance in my vague direction as he opened his door, allowing me to crawl into the backseat before settling back into his own chair. "It's where Scott works."

"Has he had any luck finding the bullet?" I continued to press the both of them now as Stiles started up the Jeep.

Since I had convinced Stiles to allow Derek to hide out in his car, I had managed to piece together the shards of information that both of them had meagerly managed to offer me. Stiles' friend, Scott, had been tasked with finding out what exactly Derek had been shot with at the Argents' household, since he'd be studying with Allison after school there. Unfortunately, it seemed he wasn't exactly having the best luck there, forcing us to wait impatiently for some word from the teenage boy.

"Not yet," said Stiles now. Glancing at me through his rearview mirror, he added suspiciously, "Why are you all red in the face?"

Flushing even more and refusing to look over at the passenger seat, I defensively replied, "It's just hot in here."

As soon as we arrived at the animal hospital, Stiles managed to only require a short search for the hidden key. Once the steel back door had been opened, Derek stumbled into the storage room, still grasping his arm tightly as he slid down to sit upon an industrial bag of dog food. A sweaty sheen had crawled upon his face and his heavy breathing was becoming labored now. Vaguely I caught the sound of frustrated barking through a nearby door.

Just as I exchanged concerned glances with Stiles, his phone rang, forcing him to briefly look down at the brightly lit screen. "Does Nordic blue monkshood mean anything to you?" he asked Derek.

Derek glimpsed up at me, his eyes sweeping over my face for just a moment before turning to Stiles. "He has to bring me the bullet," he replied.

"Why?" said Stiles.

"Because I'm going to die without it."

Ice raced through my veins as I continued to blatantly stare at Derek's sallow face. This entire afternoon had drifted by like a wispy dream. Now though, after the man before me had bluntly mentioned the true possibility of his death, my heart had begun to weigh heavily within my chest. Surely Derek couldn't die, right? Even though I had only known him for a month now, his presence had become ever-existent within my life here at Beacon Hills. If something were ever to happen to him…well, my time here would abruptly become much bleaker.

"Come on," I said, my voice cracking slightly as I offered an open palm out to Derek. "Let's get you inside."

Derek easily spotted the uncontrollable emotion within my words, but said nothing as he nodded. Slowly he fitted his much larger hand into mine, and I somehow to pull him back to his feet. As soon as he could support himself, his hand instantly dropped mine, as if I had surely caught on fire. Ignoring my gaze, he stepped into the next room first, Stiles and I following closely after him.

A stainless steel table was centered in the middle of the room, with a couple of other identical work benches shoved up against the walls. They were littered with papers, but I barely took any notice of it. Instead, my attention was drawn to Derek, who was stripping off his long sleeve shirt and shoving his wounded arm upon the operating table, into the direct fluorescent light. It wasn't his broad shoulders or rippling muscles that caught my eye, but the damage that had been done to his body.

The poison that the bullet had injected into his body was already spreading up his arm through his engorged veins, the black venom vanishing up near his shoulders. Again, Stiles had to hold his breath to stop from heaving up his lunch, but I managed to closely examine Derek's arm with a clear head.

"You know," said Stiles, breaking the strained silence, "it doesn't look like anything a good Tylenol and a good night's sleep couldn't take care of."

Ignoring my cousin, Derek said, "If the infection reaches my heart, it'll kill me." He turned slowly on his heel and began to rummage through the bench drawers.

"Positivity just isn't in your vocabulary, is it?"

"If he doesn't get here with the bullet in time, there's a last resort."

"Which is?" Stiles asked.

A handheld, electric saw was abruptly placed onto the steel table, only a couple of inches from me. I froze at the sight of it, unblinking as I stared down at it. "You're going to cut off my arm."

Silence followed as Derek tried to tie a pale blue tourniquet around his upper arm one-handed. Eventually Stiles was able to stutter out, "D-don't you think y-you're being a little b-bit drastic here? I mean, I-I can't cut off your a-arm—"

"You're not," said Derek quietly. His forest green eyes turned to me as he added, "She is."

"I'm sorry, w-what?" squeaked out Stiles, who was looking between the two of us as if we had both absolutely lost our minds. "What makes you think Jane can do it? I mean, she may be older, but that doesn't mean she's actually professionally trained in chopping off people's arms—"

I ignored Stiles' rambling as I forced my feet forward and grabbed ahold of the tourniquet that Derek was continuing to struggle with. Forcing myself to breath, I steadily tied it tightly around his bicep, just above where the black veins vanished. Glancing up into Derek's eyes, I said, more to myself more than him, "I can do this."

Stiles continued to gawk at us, clearly still unable to comprehend what was happening right before his eyes. "No way," he eventually said, grabbing ahold of the saw and pulling it out of my grasp. "I'm not letting you do this. You can't."

"Why not, Stiles?" I asked him impatiently. "If it'll save his life—"

"Yeah, but it'll ruin mine," he snapped. "And, no offense, but that's a little more important to me than saving _his_ life."

Swallowing my fury whole, I took a step around Stiles and began to search for a pair of sterile, plastic gloves. Continuing to stare incredulously at me, he said, "So what happens when you do cut off his arm? Won't he bleed out?"

"It won't bleed out," replied Derek simply, offering him a hard glare as I spotted a nearby box and pulled out two.

As I slid them onto my slender hands, I turned back to Derek, only to find him hunched over the operating table, retching out a thick substance the color of ink. Freezing at the sight of it, I barely noticed Stiles dropping the saw back on the table. "What the hell is that?" he demanded.

"It's my body trying to heal itself," said Derek, continuing to lean over and spread his infected arm across the table. His eyes now finding mine, he added, "You have to do it now, Jane."

For one frightened moment, I continued to stand there, sneakers frozen to the floor. How could I, who had no medical training besides the offhand textbooks I had managed to scavenge back in Maine, actually amputate someone's arm? It was insane, absolutely insane to believe that I had it in me to perform such a procedure. But then, as my eyes trailed down to Derek's stare, a soft warmth spread through my body, a whisper encouraging low in my ear that I could do this, that this had to be done. If I didn't will myself to move, Derek would die right before my eyes. That horrific thought was enough for me to unlatch my feet and stride towards the table.

Grabbing ahold of the forgotten saw, I pressed the steel blade into Derek's skin. "Ready?" I asked Derek, voice far steadier than I expected it to be. At Derek's silent nod, I took in a breath and began to pull the trigger to ignite the saw's tiny engine.

"Oh God, I can't watch this," mumbled Stiles, turning his back to us. "Oh God, please, no—"

"Stiles?!"

The sound of Scott's shouting voice caused all of us to freeze within the operating room. In the blink of an eye, Scott appeared in the open doorway, thick hair tousled slightly from his bike ride over. At the sight of me, holding a saw to Derek's infected arm, he gawked and demanded, "What the hell is going on here?"

Stiles weakly laughed as I dropped the saw onto the table, hands beginning to tremble with relief. Derek would be fine—Scott had found the bullet, and now he would be safe in a matter of moments. Surely our problems would only disappear from here, right? "Oh, you just prevented me a lifetime of nightmares," said Stiles, still shaking from across the room.

Ignoring him, Derek shoved himself back up to a standing position and managed to pant out, "Did you get it?"

Scott hurriedly dug into his jean pocket before extracting a long, slender bullet the color of bronze. He fumbled it into Derek's fingers, which now held the bullet inches from his face.

"What are you going to do with it?" I asked him, watching as he continued to examine the bullet.

"I'm going…I'm going…I…" Derek managed to stumble over his own words before his heavy eyelids fluttered shut, bullet slipping from his grasp and tumbling to the floor as his motionless body collapsed.

As Scott and Stiles dove after the bullet, I rushed over to Derek's side. My shaking fingers grasped for his pale face, feeling his hot skin burning under my touch. "Derek?" I gasped out, ignoring my two other companions as they fumbled over the nearby grate that the bullet had slipped down into. One of my hands slipped down to his neck, fumbling for a pulse. It weakly beat underneath my fingertips, so light that, had I not known how to search for it, I would have surely missed it.

"Come on, Derek, wake up," I said nervously, gently patting the side of his face, hoping to see those forest green eyes open up once more.

Nothing happened.

"Is he dead?" blanched Stiles, who had straightened up from the grate just as Scott somehow managed to grab ahold of the troublesome bullet.

Unable to respond, I came to one last resort, one that we both would surely regret. "I'm sorry, I whispered down to him. Taking in another breath, I reared my arm back and slammed my fist into his iron-like jaw. Sharp pain instantly shot up around my knuckles just as Derek's eyes abruptly opened, frantically glancing around the room before settling upon my frightened face.

"Oh, thank God," I mumbled as I hastily helped him to his feet.

As soon as he was up, Scott shoved the bullet back into his fingers. Using his teeth, Derek shoved the bullet into his mouth to rip open the tip. He poured the insides—a dried herb-like mixture that had a strangely sweet scent—out onto the operating table before grabbing a lighter from his pocket. Shoving the flame onto the herbs, they immediately ignited, crackling like a Fourth of July sparkler within the darkness of the animal hospital.

Once the sparks were replaced with a pale blue, sweetly scented smoke, Derek poured the piping hot herbs into his hand and took one long, last breath. His eyes glanced up into mine, finding them wide with fright and anxiousness. His hand slammed the mixture onto his wounded arm, fingers forcing the herbs crudely into the bullet hole.

A shout of agony abruptly escaped Derek forced me to jump in surprise. He tumbled to the ground on his back, hand still clutching his forearm as he continued to yell out. The sounds became almost animalistic to me, strangely resembling the growl of a furious wolf. My eyes refused to trail from his pained face, not even to catch the remarkable sight of the poison quickly filtering out of his arm, the bullet hole eventually disappearing altogether.

The room was filled with silence as Derek continued to lie on the tiled floor, the occasional exhausted pant escaping his lungs. "That…was…awesome!" grinned Stiles around at all of us, expecting his excitement to be returned.

Instead, Scott ignored his friend and continued to watch Derek. Eventually he nervously asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, except for the agonizing pain," he replied shortly.

"I suppose the ability to use sarcasm is a good sign of health," said Stiles.

Rolling my eyes at him, I took a step towards Derek, reaching out a hand to help him up. I couldn't ignore the long, lasting look he gave me as I aided in pulling him to his feet, one that was strangely unreadable to me. His intense gaze forced any words that I possibly had in mind to say to him to tangle within my throat. All I was capable of was to allow a small smile to spread on my face as I continued to worriedly gaze up at him, squeezing his hand gently before releasing it. As soon as Scott opened his mouth, Derek ripped his eyes from mine and turned towards him.

"Okay, we saved your life," said Scott, voice still oddly nervous, "which means you're going to leave us alone. You got that? And, if you don't, I'm going to go back to Allison's dad and I'm going to tell him everything—"

"You're going to trust them?" asked Derek coolly. "You think they can help you?"

"Well, why not? They're a hell of a lot nicer than you are," snapped Scott.

Derek continued to stare at Scott before replying, "Yeah, I can show you exactly how nice they are."

"What do you mean?"

Ignoring him, Derek turned back to me and said in a matter-of-fact tone, "Stiles will take you home. You'll be safe there."

"And you?" I asked him in return. When he didn't respond, I continued, ignoring the curious glances of both Scott and Stiles, "You can't expect me to just stay quiet after all of this happened. I need some answers, Derek. It's way too late to try and keep me out of the loop."

Derek visibly hesitated as he stared deep into my eyes. Finally he said, "You don't want to—"

"You don't know what I want," I couldn't help but interrupt him, my frustration from earlier beginning to creep back into my voice. Taking a breath and willing myself to stay calm, I said, "Please, Derek. I want answers. That's it. I promise."

It seemed like an eternity had passed before Derek replied shortly with, "Fine. I'll talk to you tonight, after I take Scott home."

"Derek," said Stiles warningly, glaring at his black-haired head now. "You can't just—"

"It's done," he cut him off coldly. Offering him once last glare, he shrugged past Scott, mumbling, "Let's go," before disappearing through the doorway. I was left breathless with my cousin, heart hammering in my chest as I thought forward to later that night, when I would finally receive some answers.

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**Finally, I have finished this chapter! This was actually really fun for me to write. I'm really sorry it took so long to get out, I've just been so busy this last week. I hope you all enjoyed it! Please don't forget to leave a review and let me know what you all thought! Have a lovely Labor Day everyone!**


	12. Chapter Twelve

**First off, I want to apologize for how long this chapter took to be posted. School's just been kicking my butt, and it's been really hard for me to sit down and actually work on this story. I promise you, I'm still thinking about this story, and I refuse to let it drift from my mind. Also, I want to thank you all for your wonderful reviews. As always, you all continue to amaze me with how much you seem to love this story. I really do appreciate it, and I hope you continue to enjoy it, beginning with this chapter. Well, without further ado, here is the next chapter. **

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A sprawling, inky black sky spanned high above Beacon Hills, stars dimly twinkling compared to the pale, silvery glow of the waxing moon. Chilly breezes fluttered here and there, reminding the residents of the sleepy town that autumn was surely waiting just around the corner. Fireflies dotted the thick darkness that was creeping through Beacon Hills, their flashing lights bringing delighted joy to the curious eyes of those children peering out of their windows. The streets were deserted in River's Park, the dull light of the scattered streetlamps casting long, slanting slivers of light upon the aged, cracked pavement.

Despite the late hour, I stubbornly refused to leave the rickety, birch white rocking chair casually placed on my grandparents' front porch. My grandmother had come out to check up on me, concern wrinkling her forehead as she puzzled why on Earth I would want to sit out in growing chill when I had a perfectly warm bed waiting for me inside.

"Are you sure you're feeling alright, dear?" Nana had asked me, her soft, fleshy hand pressed up against my cool forehead. "You do look a little pale."

"I always look a little pale," I couldn't help but smile weakly up at Nana, lovingly squeezing her wrist as I gently pushed her hand away. "Honestly, Nana, I'm fine. I just need a little air and some time to think. You don't need to worry about me, I promise."

Despite my reassurances, Nana's forehead continued to pucker in concern, even as she leaned down to kiss my forehead goodnight and returned into the warm house. Had it been any other night, and had I been waiting for anyone else, I would've given up an hour earlier, heading up to crawl underneath my sheets and fall fast asleep in preparation for the early morning ahead of me. Unfortunately, neither of those statements were true, forcing me to continue to curl my cramped legs underneath my backside and remain planted in my seat.

Besides the old, pale yellow quilt wrapped around my shivering body, the only other belongings that I had dragged out onto the porch were my spiral-bound notebook and black ink pen. The notebook had been turned to a random page and now, two hours after my grandparents had turned in for the night, laid in my lap, my jumbled thoughts jotted down in my familiar, cramped handwriting. One hand continued to hold the pen, black ink staining my fingertips as I mindlessly tapped the tip onto my notebook. My right hand, knuckles still swollen from smashing them into Derek's jaw, was currently occupied by a bag filled with melting ice cubes, the frigid water leaking out onto my fingers as I desperately tried to avoid using my hand altogether.

My mind, still blank with tangled thoughts, numbly wandered to the page of notes sprawled out before me. As soon as I had settled into my rocking chair, every thought and realization that had passed through me since the day I had met Derek Hale had been scribbled down on the first blank page I had opened up to. From the irritating oddities of Derek himself—and, to my surprise, there were a lot of them—to my horrific encounter with the monster in the forest, everything had been jotted down in that notebook. Eventually, after about an hour of reflection, I had come up with a story filled with as many holes the size of craters as the moon gleaming high above me that night.

The overall conclusion that I had come to, at the end of my reflecting period, was that Derek, Laura, and possibly Scott and even my own cousin, were not exactly normal. They were all involved in some…world, whether it be supernatural or whatever you'd like to call it, that went entirely over my head. And, in the case of Derek and Stiles, it seemed they wanted to keep it that way. Unfortunately for them, that wasn't going to happen, not anytime soon. If they just assumed that I was going to sit by and allow all these strange occurrences to happen right under my nose without any curiosity, then they were going to have another thing coming. This night was meant for one thing, and one thing only: getting answers.

This determination was what fueled me to stay awake until the late hours of the night. The possibility of actually receiving some answers kept my eyes sleep free and my mind from drifting off to sleep. At least, it did for the first few hours. As my watch ticked to midnight, however, I could feel the fatigue from the emotionally draining day begin to eat away at my resolve and cast a spell over my weary body. Before I could control it any longer, my heavy eyelids begin to droop and I could feel, oh so slowly, my notebook and pen slipping from my grasp, visions of haunting forest green eyes flashing right before me….

A strong hand, not ungentle, abruptly clutched my shoulder, forcing me to jump awake. Shivering now as I blearily gazed around the front porch, my eyes landed on Derek Hale bending down before me, his handsome face inches from mine.

Jet black hair flopped down over his forehead, casting a dark shadow over his entire face. His iron-like jaw—I could say this now from personal experience—was clenched, mouth in a straight line as he gazed down at me. Forest green clashed with midnight blue as his eyes narrowed down into mine, hand slowly releasing my shoulder as he straightened up. "Are you alright?" asked Derek, brow furrowed in concern as he observed my trembling fingers.

Swallowing away my fears, I mutely nodded, sitting up in my rocking chair and subconsciously grabbing for my notebook. My fingers only colliding with chilly air, I frowned as I glanced around hastily for my notes. It was only when I found them grasped in Derek's other hand that I felt all the color drain from my face. Swallowing again, I nervously asked him, "Where…where'd you get that?"

Eyes flitting down to the black notebook in his possession, a secretive smile flashed across his face as his gaze returned to my face. "You dropped it while you were sleeping," replied Derek, that amused smirk returning to his face now.

"Did you happen to take a look at it?" I asked him although, judging from his smile, I already had an idea on what the answer would be.

"Just a little," was all he responded with as he outstretched his arm, gently placing the closed notebook back into my lap. Rolling my eyes, I watched as he took a slow seat in the rocking chair beside me, slightly grimacing as he brushed his left arm against the arm of the chair.

My minor embarrassment with the fact that Derek had caught a glimpse of my thoughts on our entire situation was instantly cast aside as the memories of earlier that night came racing back to me. Twisting my body to face him, I could barely allow my eyes to trail away from his pale face to his injured arm as I queried, "How are you feeling? Is your arm…" My inability to come up with a good description for him injury forced my sentence to trail off into the cool breeze, my last words floating all around us.

Derek's shoulders shrugged up and down halfheartedly as he quietly replied, "I've been worse."

My bottom lip caught underneath my front teeth, I nervously reached out a trembling hand and softly grabbed ahold of the cuff of his sleeve. The cotton material caressed my fingertips as I silently pushed up his sleeve past his elbow, expecting to find a scar or some sort of proof that there had once been a bullet lodged in his flesh only a few hours before. Instead, as, in disbelief, I traced my fingers over his arm, Derek's skin was warm and smooth under my touch, as if that bullet had never even come in contact with him. My fingertips trailed on his skin as I turned my gaze up to his face, only to find his watching me with such passionate emotions flashing through his forest green eyes at such a rapid pace I could barely catch a single one.

His warm hand trapped around mine, gently pushing me away as he unrolled his sleeve, hiding his pale skin away from the shining moonlight. The cool breeze that fluttered around broke me from my reverie and forced me to blink my way back up to Derek's gaze. Taking in a shuddering breath, I asked him, "Who shot you, Derek?"

"The same people that you met the night before at the gas station," said Derek quietly.

Biting my lip, I continued, "And these people…aren't exactly your biggest fans, right?"

A wry smile crossed his features as he nodded his head. "A bit of an understatement, but yeah. You could say that. Or," he added as his gaze slipped down to the closed notebook still in my lap, "you could label them 'the bad guys' as you so eloquently did."

Hot blood rushed to my pale cheeks as I glared at him. "Very funny," I snapped irritably as he chuckled under his breath. Not missing a beat, I pressed him, "So why are these people—the Argents and whoever else is out there—so desperate to kill you? They nearly managed to do so today, if not for that bullet that Scott managed to find."

Derek frowned, clearly not fond of where this conversation was heading. "They're hunters. They hunt…people like me."

"And what are you?"

My words hung in their cool breeze, a standstill between Derek and myself slowly forming. I half-expected him to end the conversation right there, still bound and determined to keep me in the dark of this supernatural world that surrounded him. If he had, I already had a series of arguments to use to make sure that he would realize that I wasn't going to back down, not this time.

Instead, Derek, his gaze unreadable, asked me, "What do you think I am, Jane?"

A frown graced my features as I furrowed my brow, thinking back to the two creatures that I had seen all those nights ago, hidden deep within the forest. One had been terrifying, those glowing ruby red eyes ripping through me as its claws desperately tried to do the same. The other one, however, had been smaller, faster, and had clearly tried to protect me from the monster. That sliver of moonlight that had allowed me to catch a glimpse of his mutated features was all that I had to run on, as well as this strange ability to heal faster than anyone I had ever seen before. But my mind trailed back to the creature that had risked his life to save mine, fur trailing down his strong jaw, claws jutting out from his fingertips, his teeth shaped like fangs, his canine teeth….canine…

My eyes widened as I abruptly turned towards Derek, blinking in disbelief as he mutely watched me as I processed this information. It had to be impossible…there was no way…just a myth…And yet, as I piled together all the facts that had been thrust onto me, it was the one conclusion that I kept on coming to. The wolf-like features, the claws, the teeth…Derek was—

"A werewolf," I breathed, still not even truly believing what I was saying. All the logic in my body was shrieking at me for being such a fool, that there was no such thing as werewolves. But deep within my stomach and my heart, I knew as soon as the words formed on my lips that I was, in fact, correct. "You're…a werewolf."

Judging from the pained smile that came to Derek's face, I had hit the truth right on the button. But, he continued to stay silent as he allowed my brain to continue to process this abruptly new information.

"And Laura…was she one…" At Derek's nod, I closed my eyes, thinking back to my friend, her forest green gaze that was identical to the one before me. "Scott…Stiles…"

"Scott is," replied Derek, his unreadable stare continuing to search my face for something that I couldn't quite comprehend. "Stiles is just…involved. That was Scott's decision, not mine, believe me."

His eye roll managed to restore some feeling back into my fingers and toes as I let out a deep breath. "So how does it…happen? Were you bitten or…"

"My family has hosted a long line of werewolves, including my sister and me," he said. "We were born as…what we are. Scott was bitten about a month ago. Not by me," he hastily added at my raised eyebrows. "That was the Alpha; that thing that—"

"That I saw in the forest," I finished for him, the wheels in my mind continuing to churn. "That means that…if there's an Alpha, you must be in a pack, right?" At his nod, I continued, "You, Scott, this…Alpha…is there anyone else?"

"Yes…and no," Derek responded. "There's only three of us, but I'm not sure who the Alpha is. Whoever he is, he's the one who bit Scott and possibly killed Laura. I've been trying to find out who he is, but it hasn't exactly been easy."

I let out another breath as I ducked my head down into my hands, trying to allow myself to comprehend all of this information. Werewolves…hunters…it couldn't possibly make sense, not in a thousand years…and yet I didn't find myself questioning any of its validity. It was as if everything, the forest, the bullet hole, everything was so bizarre that it just had to be true. Taking one last breath, I turned to face Derek and said quietly, "That's a lot of information to comprehend."

Derek smiled wryly down at me as he replied, "You shouldn't be comprehending it. You should be running back into your house and bolting the door shut."

I sucked in a gasp of air as I blinked up at him in surprise. "So that's why you decided to tell me," I realized aloud. "You were hoping I'd be so scared that I'd run away and give up on Laura, on you."

"The thought did cross my mind," said Derek.

Tipping my chin up defiantly, I told him coolly, "Well, it's not going to happen. I still want to help you find Laura's killer, whether it be this Alpha or those hunters—"

"No," said Derek abruptly, his tone firm and resolute as he got to his feet and stood tall before me. "You're not going to do anything of the sort."

"And why not?" I asked him hotly.

"Because it's dangerous," he snapped. "Do you not realize that? Why do you think I wanted to tell you all of this? You should be reacting like a normal person—running away, screaming, and never looking back." He began to pace furiously, his black shoes nearly burning holes into the porch wood. "Look at what happened to me today. I can heal myself; you can't. If that hunter had managed to shoot you, I—" His voice trailed off as I felt my features softening at his tone. "You're not going involved. I won't let you."

"Derek," I tried, getting to my feet and forcing my quilt to pool down at my feet. I reached out a hand to slow him down. He instantly stopped pacing, his reluctant gaze turning to my face as my fingers clenched his arm.

"These people will stop at nothing to kill you if you get involved, Jane," Derek told me, his intense eyes searching deep within me. "Don't you realize that? Don't you realize what you're risking your life for?"

"I do," I replied quietly. "If it means helping you find Laura's killer, I'm willing to do anything."

A frown came to Derek's face as he forcefully pulled himself out of my grip. "Well, I'm not," he snapped. "Your life means more to me than that."

My words became lodged in my throat as he stormed off the porch and climbed into his black car. His own words rang through my mind as I silently watched him peel off into the night, his screeching tires ripping through the chilly air. Taking in a shuddering breath, I bundled up my pale yellow quilt, notebook, and pen into my arms and dejectedly returned to my home, Derek's words still reverberating through me.

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**I know it's short, but I hope the fact that Jane finally knows about the wolves helps make up for my ridiculous hiatus. Please forgive me! Thank you all for reading, and please don't forget to leave a review!**


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**First off, I want to thank those of you who left reviews after reading the latest installment of my story. ** **Those reviews are what help keep me writing and keep me enthused about this story. Without further ado, here is the next addition to "Home":**

Being the daughter of a police detective addicted to his job, I'd learned quite a few helpful tips throughout my childhood. For one, my dad had taught me to keep an eye out for certain ticks that people unconsciously developed whenever they were lying. Some wouldn't be able to keep their fingers still as they fidgeted nervously with their hair or their clothes; others refused to meet their interrogator's gaze, too uncomfortable with the fact that they were lying through their teeth. Even when we were just eating out at the local diner, my dad would point out a nearby table, either hosting a couple or a family, and locate each of their ticks, even if it was just a husband rubbing his wrist raw while he lied about forgetting his anniversary.

"I don't care what anyone says," Dad would say with a shake of his head, returning to his steaming cup of black coffee. "Everyone has a tick. You just have to be sharp enough to find it before they do."

As soon as I turned fifteen and was ready to get behind the wheel, my father taught me another trick that he made me swear I would never forget. He forced me to check my mirrors constantly, not only to keep an awareness of my surroundings, but to memorize the cars around me and keep an eye out for anyone that seemed too familiar for too long. Some may have lamented that my father was a bit of a worrier, but he just wanted to make sure that I was ready for the real world, and for anything that might fall into my lap. And if being able to detect a tailing vehicle kept me alive, in his mind, it was ultimately worth it.

So, when I was driving to work the day after Derek was shot, it was fairly easy for me to spot the familiar blue Jeep tracking my every move from the moment I pulled out of Beacon Hills High. As I caught the flash of the headlights flashing in my rearview mirror, I couldn't help but roll my eyes at my ridiculous cousin. Honestly, could he be any more obvious?

As soon as I turned into the Beacon Hills Library parking lot and parked in one of the nearest parking spots, I kept an eye on my rearview mirror and waited patiently for the blue Jeep to pull in. Sure enough, once I turned off the engine, the Jeep pulled into the parking spot beside mine. Sighing, I stepped out of my car, backpack slung over my shoulder, and watched as Stiles and Scott piled out of the Jeep.

As I was waiting for them to approach me, I made sure to glance down at my watch to check and make sure that I was, in fact, early enough to fit this little chat in before my shift. My boss had made certain to schedule a shift for himself on the same day that I would be there, just so we could have a discussion over my recent work habits. It was a conversation I was absolutely dreading, but, unfortunately, was not one that I could easily miss.

Just as I went to open my mouth to form a greeting, I caught the grimace flashing across Scott's face. As soon as he noticed my cocked eyebrow, his frown morphed into a sheepish grin. His hands trailed up to his curly black hair, evidently a nervous habit of his. Shaking my head in confusion, I told them both, "If you wanted to talk to me, you could have called instead of following me all the way here."

"Who said I was following you?" asked Stiles defensively.

"You've been right behind me ever since I pulled out of the school parking lot," I told him with a frown. "You didn't even bother keeping some distance behind me. How could you not have been following me?"

"Maybe I was just impatient to get to the library," suggested Stiles stubbornly. "Maybe I wanted to check out a book for school or research something like—"

"Like werewolves?" I cut him off.

Stiles, caught in mid-response, was forced to struggle with the slackness of his jaw. Fortunately Scott, who had his own look of surprise flash across his tanned face, asked me nervously, "Derek told you about…?"

I nodded as I replied, "Last night. You, the Alpha, the Argents—he didn't exactly hold back on too much."

"I can't believe he told you everything," snapped my cousin irritably. "Derek barely tolerates me knowing anything about your little…issue. But he goes and tells _her _everything?! Why would he—"

"To try and scare me away," I interrupted him mid-rant. "Derek thought that the truth would push me away and make me give up on wanting to help him. It didn't work," I added as soon as Stiles went to open his mouth again. "I'm not running away, not that easily. So who else knows, besides us three?"

"No one," replied Scott. "Allison doesn't know anything. I don't think her family ever told her about werewolves, even though they hunt them for a living."

Frowning, I asked, "How do you know Allison?"

An abrupt blush broke out on Scott's boyish cheeks as he shyly said, "We're, uh, involved. She mentioned you a couple times—she said she trusted you more than Lydia."

I couldn't ignore the appreciative warmth that spread through my stomach at Scott's statement. Allison had really said that? My guilt over not speaking to her in about a week out of fear of her father came flooding back to me, making my cheeks burn pink and fidget nervously under her boyfriend's gaze. Realizing just who—or _what_—her boyfriend was, I glanced back at him and said, "It must not be too easy, what with who her family is."

Scott shrugged as he replied, "It's alright for now. As long as she doesn't find out about…me anytime soon, we should be fine."

I smiled warmly at him and told him, "She won't hear it from me, I can promise you that much."

He returned my smile in thanks. Stiles, on the other hand, was biting the inside of his cheek, clearly desperate to say something. After watching him for a moment, I sighed and said, "Please, just come out with it, Stiles."

"Do you really have to be involved in all this, Jane?" he burst out. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but Derek's right. This isn't just some game. This is dangerous stuff. What if you're hurt in the crossfire? What do you think your grandparents would do if something happened to you? It'd kill them, you know it would."

Catching my bottom lip with my teeth, I thought carefully over what Stiles had just said. He wasn't completely wrong—all my grandparents had left in their life was me. If something were to happen to me, they…it _would _kill them. They'd already lost their only child—to lose their only grandchild could possibly put them over the edge. They had barely been comfortable with leaving me at home alone for that upcoming weekend; it had only been due to my incessant pushing for them to take a break and visit the coast, as well as my constant reminders that I was nineteen years old and able to take care of myself for a couple days, that allowed them to take a chance. But Derek…I couldn't just walk away from all of this, not when Laura's killer was still out there. Maybe afterwards…I just wasn't sure.

"You're right, Stiles," I eventually relented. As he went to open his mouth, I hastily added, "But that doesn't mean I can just step away, not now. This isn't completely about Derek." Sighing, my gaze dropped from my cousin and his best friend down to my violet-colored sneakers, gravel crackling under them as I shifted anxiously. I continued, "I met Derek's sister at the library before she passed away; she spent nearly every day there doing research. She was my first real friend when I moved here, and I owe it to her to find out who killed her. I can't just…stop. I'm sorry, Stiles, but I just can't."

When I finally met Stiles' eyes again, I instantly caught his dark eyes softening. Finally he sighed and his shoulders slumped. "I guess I can understand that," he sighed. "Just…promise me that you'll be careful, okay? I don't want to see you hurt, Jane."

A soft smile came across my face as I gently squeezed his arm. "I'll be fine, Stiles; you'll see. There's nothing to worry about."

The waning sun was dipping past the horizon as I exchanged one gravel parking lot for another. The Beacon Hills Cemetery was on the outskirts of the sleepy town that I was still growing to call home, but it was only a short drive away from the library. My grandmother had been continuously poking around the fact that I had yet to visit the cemetery since my arrival in Beacon Hills, either if it was during a quick breakfast before rushing off to school or the address to the cemetery being casually strewed on my dresser. No matter how much I was dreading my eventual return to the cemetery, Nana had made it perfectly clear: it was something that must be done.

Even when I turned my engine off, my bare fingers lingered on the steering wheel, reluctant to offer up an excuse to actually leave the car. From the safety of my car, I watched as a lingering breeze fluttered the fading leaves surrounding the entire cemetery, a couple even tumbling onto the thick shield of glass separating me from the outside world. Letting loose a deep sigh, I clutched my keys tightly and opened my car door, allowing the chilly air to barrage me as soon as I stepped outside.

Fresh pine assaulted my senses as I walked through the parking lot, pebbles and dead leaves crunching loud underneath my shoes with each step. Tucking an errant lock of unruly dark hair behind my ear, I bit my bottom lip nervously as I glanced around the cemetery. Trees surrounded the entire cemetery, dead bark peeling away from their trunks. Dead leaves were scattered about from the fringes of the darkening forest to the edge of the parking lot behind me. Countless rows of headstones, some weathered and cracked and others sparkling new, sprawled out before me, names, birthdates and dates of death blurring all together until my eyes became sore.

The last time my father had taken me to the cemetery, I'd still been clutching a worn teddy bear to my side, too young to realize I was ruining it by dragging it so low to the ground. Dad would have to tug me forward to make sure that I didn't get left behind; I'd barely made a sound in those early days, making it far too easy for my father to lose me in a crowd if he wasn't observant enough. And now, so many years later, nothing about the cemetery looked all that familiar, forcing me to glance around for someone who worked there that could give me a hand to recall my bearings.

Casting another glance around the cemetery, my heart leapt up into my throat at the sight of a small wooden shack, fog encasing the single window facing me. My mind was abruptly bombarded with a distant memory of following my father inside as he asked an older man for some help. Just as hastily as the vision came, it disappeared from my mind, leaving behind only the slightest whisper of my father's voice. Sighing, I made my way through the stone pathway and eventually reached the open door of the shack.

Peeking in, I was startled to find a boy sitting there, bent so low over a thick textbook that the pointed tip of his nose was brushing the lightly crinkled pages. The shack was tiny, filled with only a single bookshelf stacked tightly with binders, books, and papers that seemed to have no organization system whatsoever. The boy was sitting at an aging wooden desk, an ancient computer running noisily only a few inches away from him.

He had to be only a few years younger than myself. Thick light brown hair curled at his temples, messy as if his long fingers had been raking through it for hours on end. His skin was surprisingly pale for a Northern Californian teenage boy, his limbs long and gangly. Shadows obscured his face, forcing me to squint in the darkness to catch anymore of his features. When I came up short, I bit my bottom lip nervously and tapped my knuckles on the nearby cast-open door three times.

At the sound, the boy instantly jumped up, the wooden chair creaking in protest at the abrupt movement. He forced his face around to glance over at me, his body freezing in motion as soon as he caught me standing in the doorway. Apparently whoever he'd been expecting to be interrupting his studying was not exactly me. With his face turned towards me, I could easily decipher the rest of his oddly familiar features—high cheekbones, arched, expressive eyebrows, and pale sky-blue eyes that were rimmed with deep purple bruises.

As a police detective who specialized in helping victims of sexual assault and abuse, my father was forced to bring home stacks of case files filled with photos of the cuts and bruises that victims were forced to endure from their rapist, their parent, their spouse. As a child who stumbled upon these photos more than once, I'd become used to keeping an eye out for bruises, whether recently healed or not.

The bruises on this boy's face, however, were fresh. It had to have been only a day or two, if that, since someone's fist had collided with his face. Forcing away a cringe at the thought, I offered a small smile to the boy and said, "Sorry about that."

The boy's sharp shoulders shrugged up and down in response. "I should've been paying attention in the first place," he replied quietly. Catching me watching him closely, he added in a louder voice, "What can I help you with?"

Shifting nervously under his gaze, I replied, "I'm actually looking for someone—well, their grave. I haven't been here in quite a few years, so all the graves are kind of blurring together." A sheepish smile formed at the corners of my lips as I added, "Do you have a book or something that could help me find it?"

The boy before me returned my smile with a shy one of his own as he got to his feet and grabbed an overstuffed binder from the single bookshelf, allowing it to fall open upon the desk. On his feet now, I caught how he easily towered over me, forcing me to realize how even the younger ones were outgrowing me now. Shaking the thought away, I neared the boy and binder and added, "Her name is Laila Brown."

He mutely nodded as he continued to flip through the pages. After a few moments, he paused on a laminated page and ran a long, pale finger down the list of names until it halted on one. "She's only a short walk from here," he eventually said, turning back to face me. "If you want, I can take you there?"

A relieved smile broke out on my face as I replied, "That would be great actually. Thank you."

The boy shrugged, another shy smile spreading across his face as he tucked a blank piece of lined paper into his textbook and shut it tightly. Turning back to me, he awkwardly shuffled out of the shack, waiting for me patiently to follow.

After a few minutes of walking through the piles of dead leaves and rows of graves, the thick silence between us began to tug at my mind. Glancing up at his face again, a brief revelation came to mind as I hastily realized just where I had seen this boy before. "You're on the lacrosse team, right? At Beacon Hills? Um…Lahey, right?"

The boy blinked in surprise, clearly not used to having been noticed before. "Yeah," he replied slowly. "Isaac Lahey. How'd you remember that? I don't exactly play all the time."

"I've been forced to watch my cousin sit on the bench on more than one occasion," I told him. "I've seen you sitting near him before. I'm not sure why, I guess your face just stuck with me for some reason."

Isaac nodded mutely and it seemed we were about to lapse into another long silence. Abruptly he turned back towards me and asked, "Who's your cousin?"

"Stiles Stilinski," I answered, cringing at the thought.

Catching my expression, Isaac let out a quiet chuckle. "I'm guessing you're not his biggest fan?"

"He just drives me insane sometimes," I said, rolling at my eyes at the memory of Stiles' odd over-protectiveness that reminded me far too much of his own father. "He's family though," I added with a sigh. "I guess you have to love them no matter what."

With his lack of response, I glanced over at him once more and caught sight of those bruises again. Frowning at the thought of what kind of people _his _family was, I said nothing else. Forcing my eyes away from his bruises, I took a glance around at the graves surrounding us. The parking lot was shrinking behind us, and we were stepping into the deepest part of the cemetery. Just as I twisted back around, I froze at the sight of an all-too familiar name plastered on one of the graves.

"Everything alright?" asked Isaac, frowning as I stood frozen a couple steps behind him.

Shaking out of my reverie, I mutely nodded, turning my wide-eyed gaze back to him. "Yeah," I replied slowly. "I'm…fine. Are we close to the grave?"

Isaac cast a quick glance around, checking his bearings before saying, "It's actually just down that row over there." His long finger pointed to a short row only a couple feet away from where we stood. "It should be the eleventh one down." He glanced behind him and caught a tall figure standing down over by the shack he had been studying in only a few short moments before, hands on his hips. "I'm sorry, I have to…"

As his voice trailed, I gave him a warm smile and nodded. "Thanks for your help, Isaac. I really do appreciate it. I'll see you at school sometime?"

Blinking in surprise, another smile spread across his bruised face as he replied, "Sure. I'll see you around. It was nice meeting you…"

"Jane," I smiled again. "Jane Brown."

Nodding, he offered me one last nervous smile before hurrying back down the pathway and eventually leaving me all by myself. Sighing, I stepped into the row Isaac had showed me and began counting the graves. As soon as I reached the tenth one, my palms began to sweat and blood rushed to my cheeks. A couple steps later, I shakily stood before the grave of my mother, slowly reading the curved words carved into her tombstone:

Laila Evelyn Brown

1969-1992

Loving Mother, Wife, Sister, Friend

My fingers dipped low as they traced the letters of her name, fresh tears sloping down my cheeks as a sad smile spread across my face. I took a step back, wiping away the dampness from my cheeks.

Even though I'd been born in Portland, Maine, before her death, my mother had forced my father to swear that, if anything were to happen to her, she'd be buried back in Beacon Hills, so she'd be laid to rest in the place that she would always know as home. After she passed just a few hours after my birth, my father never broke her promise, agreeing to find a plot in the Beacon Hills Cemetery so that she would be home. My father, on the other hand, had something completely different in mind after his own death—he'd wanted to be cremated and his ashes spread along the coastline of the same beach where he'd first met my mother.

After about fifteen minutes, I traced my fingertips once more along the engraving of my mother's grave and began making my way back to the parking lot. However, just as I reached the end of her row, I remembered the familiar name that had caught my eye before. Frowning to myself, I retraced my steps down the dirt pathway and eventually found myself at the entrance of a separate row, the same one that I had noticed before. Swallowing away my apprehension, I took a couple steps into the row and searched the tombstones for the surname that had been haunting my steps for a month now.

Soon enough I was standing before the long line of tombstones of the Hale family, all eight of their dates of death mirroring one another. The first names blurred together, their surnames burning bright before me. This was Derek's family, the ones he had lost in the fire that had destroyed his childhood, his dreams. I'd never learned who had even started the fire—if I had to guess, it would have to be the Argents, or some other group of hunters who'd held a grudge against the Hale family.

As I stood there, cold breeze filtering around me, I realized that I couldn't just walk away from helping Derek find his sister's killer. Whoever had murdered her had clearly held a hand in this tragedy resting before me, and was evidently trying to stop the truth from coming to light. Whoever it was, I wasn't going to stand aside and let them get away with murder—even if it meant putting myself in imminent danger.

**So, I can't believe how fast this chapter came to me. I personally loved writing about Isaac, since he's absolutely one of my favorite characters on Teen Wolf. What did you all think? I know, I know, there's no Derek, but this chapter was vital to Jane's mental state, so that she would gain her bearings after finding out about the werewolves, so she could realize just what she wanted to do—to walk away or to help. Thank you so much for reading, and please don't forget to review!**


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**First off, I want to thank you all for your continued interest in this story. I've just finished mapping out nearly the rest of the plot of this story, which really makes me excited because I'm honestly so ready to dive in to the conclusion of the first season and the entirety of the second season which, in my opinion, has to the best season so far. I'm so happy you all are enjoying this so far, especially the cameo Isaac made in the last chapter. (: Well, I won't keep you for much longer—without further ado, here is the next installment of "Home":**

* * *

"Nana, I'm fine," I repeated for what felt like the hundredth time into my flip phone. Due to the set of keys I was juggling in one hand and a steaming brown paper bag of Chinese take-out in the other, I had no choice but to squeeze my phone between my right shoulder and my cheek as I kicked my car door closed and began to stride towards my front door. "You're on vacation—you shouldn't be worrying about me."

"I know, dear," sighed my grandmother, her fingers no doubt beginning to run along her wrinkled jawline. As I waited for her to continue, I kicked some of the soil from Nana's rose bushes that had managed to sneak its way onto the porch back into the garden, putting off the actual event of unlocking the door. "It's just…this is your first night having the whole house to yourself ever since…"

My shoulders stiffened as her voice trailed, fingers slowly clenching the keys tighter into the soft skin of my palm. Letting out a shaky breath, I managed to say, "It'll be alright, Nana. Don't worry about me; just focus on enjoying yourself and taking a nice stroll with Pappy on the beach, like the old days." With each word, my voice began to strengthen, even allowing me to readjust my key ring so that I could grab ahold of my house key.

"You mean back when your grandfather wasn't complaining about his back and heart burn every five seconds?" Nana chuckled. "Honestly, he'll be lucky to get five feet away from the pier without me strangling him."

"Well, try to avoid that for now," I grinned into my phone. "I'm just about to head inside, so I'll let you go so you can enjoy yourself."

"Alright dear," replied Nana. "Just promise me you'll call if you have any issues?"

"I promise," I swore, and, after some last minute goodbyes, I was eventually able to hang up my phone and, after dropping my Chinese takeout on the porch floor for just a second, tuck it deep into my jeans pocket. As I was closing its lid, I noticed the battery symbol flashing bright red—thank goodness I'd thought to charge it while I was driving home, or else I would probably have never been able to answer my grandmother's call. If that had happened, she surely would have called off her entire vacation and rushed home to make sure that I was safe. There were a few unanswered text messages waiting for me in my inbox, but I chose to ignore them, guessing they were hardly anything important and that I didn't have time to even open one before my phone would die.

Sighing to myself, I clutched my Chinese takeout and house key and turned back to the front door. After jiggling the key into the doorknob lock, I managed to unlock the door and step into the foyer, plunging myself into complete darkness. Taking in a shuddering breath, my fingertips searched along the wall until they stumbled onto the light switch. I hastily flipped the switch and allowed the fluorescent to flood the foyer, calming my nerves and allowing me to breath once more.

Kicking the front door closed and locking the deadbolt, I stepped through the foyer and made a hasty shortcut through the living room before eventually stopping. Once my eyes caught sight of the remote control lying innocently on the coffee table, I picked it up and instantly turned on the television to one of the lower channels, allowing some sitcom to begin broadcasting throughout the house. Sighing in relief at the sound of the white noise, I carried my steaming paper bag into the kitchen and dropped it onto counter. However, instead of digging in, I clutched the edge of the countertop, closing my eyes and allowing my heavy breathing to cease. Silence surrounded me, ringing loudly in my ears as I tried to control my heart rate. Perhaps it had been wrong to lie to Nana about the fact that I was supposedly "fine"—to be honest, I'd been dreading this night all week long. I hadn't been locked in a house at night all by myself in quite a few months, not since…

Letting loose another sigh, I went to move towards the sink, planning turn on the faucet and allow the cool water to splash up onto my warm cheeks, until a strange creaking noise whispered down to me through the heavy silence. My limbs froze, fingers still outstretched to the faucet as I listened closely, waiting for an explanation as to what that interruption could possibly be. Just as silence was all that was remaining, I took another step.

A loud thump erupted throughout the silent house, the sound coming directly above my head. Raising my eyes up to the ceiling, I let out a soft gasp of air before taking slow, measured steps towards my purse and grabbing ahold of the handgun Pat had sent me. Ever since Derek had unloaded on me all the unnerving information about the Alpha and the Argents, I had taken to making it a habit to keep it with me whenever I went out, besides when I ventured out to school.

Feeling my fingers clench around the familiar, cool metal, I pulled it out of my handbag and cocked it, making sure it was ready to be fired. As soon as I was satisfied, still holding the gun in both hands, I deliberately began to walk towards the staircase, my right index finger ready to squeeze the trigger if necessary. The steps quietly creaked underneath the soles of my leather boots, forcing me to pause after each step to check and make sure there was no other movement, specifically someone trying to catch the silent figure creeping up the stairs. I forced my breaths to become quiet and even, my heartbeat slowing with each step.

Once my feet reached the second floor landing, I glanced down the corridor, eyes peeled for any sign of movement. The air was considerably chillier as I neared my bedroom, a cool breeze fluttering through the slightly ajar door. Pressing my knuckles up against the wooden door, I took in one last soothing breath before shoving the door open, my hand hastily returning to my gun as soon as it creaked open.

Whatever I was expecting to greet me in my bedroom—a burglar, an animal, maybe even a broken limb from the tree planted a few feet from my window—did not even come close to what I stumbled upon: Derek, blood spewing his mouth and dribbling down his chest, sprawled out on my hardwood floors, his eyes closed and his skin deathly pale. Jet black hair, drenched with sweat, was plastered on his white forehead. His long-sleeved shirt was torn on his back, revealing the taut skin ripped to shreds as the streaming blood began to pool on the floor.

My gun dropped carelessly onto the floor, I instantly kneeled by his side, gasping out his name as I brought my trembling hands up to his face—he was burning up fast, hot skin nearly scorching my palms as I gently patted his cheeks, trying to wake him up.

"Derek?" I asked, voice shaking as I continued to lightly slap at him, hoping to see those emerald green eyes flash up at me. When his eyes remained clenched shut, I pressed my index and middle fingers into his neck, letting out a cry of relief when I felt the soft thud of his pulse against my fingertips.

Glancing around my room, my eyes fell onto my neatly made bed. Scrambling to my feet, I wasted no time and threw back my pale yellow quilt, tossing it carelessly down on the ground and turning back to the passed out man—could I still call him that with my new knowledge?—on my floor.

"Come on, Derek, you have to help me out here," I told him as I ducked down and slung his heavy arm over my shoulder. Wishing that just a little splash of adrenaline would rush through my veins, I battled to heave him up and onto my bed. Unfortunately, his dead weight was far too hefty, forcing me to accidentally stumble over my own two feet and drop down with him onto the floor. I scrambled back to my feet, hoping to discover that the impact would have woken up, but it was to no end—he was completely out. How he managed to crawl up into bedroom, I would never know.

Closing my eyes for a moment, I allowed my thoughts to unscramble and to let all the strength flow to my upper body as I kneeled down and lifted Derek up into my arms. With one strong heave, I managed to put the upper part of his body up onto my bed and then, with one last shove, his legs were sprawled out onto my bed.

Now that he wasn't on my uncomfortable floor any longer, I sprinted to my bathroom and grabbed ahold of the first aid kit I remembered unpacking when I first arrived at Beacon Hills—my father had always warned me it's always best to have one handy, just in case of an emergency. Snatching the dark blue kit with the giant Red Cross symbol splayed across the front as well as a handful of damp hand towels, I hurried back to my room. Derek hadn't awoken since I'd left, which allowed me to not so easily flip him over onto his stomach and pull his shirt up over his head so that I could get a better look at his injury.

The skin on the middle of his back was torn to pieces, although the red flesh that was visible was shiny, as if it had already begun the healing process. Shaking away my confusion, I poured some alcohol onto a square of gauze and began to wipe it over the wound, cleaning away all the grime and infection that Derek could have possibly picked up on his way here. Grimacing at the vicious injury, I glanced into the first aid kit for some sort of sewing tools—there was no way that the wound would heal on its own, not without some stitching up. Once I grabbed ahold of the needle, I turned back to the wound and blinked in surprise: the skin was slowly beginning to heal, the tendons reattaching themselves and red flesh starting to disappear right before my eyes.

"Of course," I whispered to myself in amazement. How could I have so stupidly forget that Derek could heal himself? It was the only way he'd managed to survive the bullet hole the week before.

Still shaking my head in absolute astonishment, I reached for a large, square bandage and began to tape it to Derek's back, hiding the healing skin and allowing the germs and bacteria to be barred from Derek's blood system.

Once all the dried blood was wiped away from Derek's pale skin, I flipped him onto his back and found myself glancing at his face. The blood, caked so heavily around his mouth that it appeared jet black in the moonlight, had dripped down his strong neck and onto his bare chest. Swallowing my childish fear, I began to press the damp towel in my hand onto his front, first focusing on his face. Once his lips and chin were clean, I slowly brought the towel down his neck, fingers beginning to tremble as they dipped lower and lower. How was I supposed to ignore that his chest was exceptionally muscular, his shoulders broad and able to carry the weight of the world on them? It was as if you were asking me not to breathe—it was physically impossible.

Letting out a breath when I was finally cleaning out the caked blood off of the crevices of his chest, I found my gaze wandering up to his face, his high cheekbones, his long fringe of dark eyelashes, his crooked nose, no doubt from healing countless times. Black stubble was beginning to sprout, forcing my fingertips to, unbeknownst to me, trail lightly over his jawline, allowing the tiny hairs to prick at my soft skin.

Abruptly Derek's face twitched ever so slightly, forcing me to nearly jump right off of my bed. Now on my feet, I blinked down at Derek, now lying motionless on my stained sheets. Shaking the cobwebs out of my head, I glanced down at the floor sprawling out from underneath my feet and caught sight of the pool of blood beginning to stain the hardwood. Sighing to myself, I grabbed another damp towel and got to work.

* * *

Once I had thrown all the dirty, bloody towels that I had used to scrape the blood clean off my hardwood floors into the wash, I was finally able to return to my room and check on Derek. During my cleaning, I had been forced, after blowing my hair out of my face for the fifteenth time, to tie my unruly hair back into a loose pony-tail at the back of my neck. My fingertips reached up to my cheeks, tucking the occasional loose strand behind my ear, only to have it spring back out and tickle the sensitive skin of my cheeks.

When I stepped back into my bedroom, my concern grew as I realized Derek was continuing to rest. I had been positive that after an only short time he'd eventually awake and explain what the hell had happened to him, but yet he still laid there, his bare chest rising and falling at a slow, steady pace. His broad-shouldered body seemed to cause my bed, which normally was so spacious to me, to shrink right before my eyes.

Biting my bottom lip and forcing myself to look away from his rippling muscles, I reached my hand over to press my fingers onto Derek's neck once more, just to make sure his pulse was, in fact, steady. As the tips of my fingers neared the right side of his neck, a hand abruptly reached up and wrapped its strong, long fingers around my wrist so painfully tight that I was sure my bones were about to be shattered under their iron-like grip.

Before I could squeak out a word, Derek's eyes shot open, electric blue flooding his irises as he bolted off the bed, his hand still clenching my wrist as he forcefully backed me up against the wall beside my headboard. Derek's other hand instinctively grabbed for my throat, squeezing my vocal cords until they were close to bursting. Right before my eyes, Derek's face transformed into that of the vicious wolf that I had witnessed in the forest those weeks before. His mouth ripped out a horrific growl, one that made my legs turn to jelly and forced me to shove my head back against the wall, desperately trying to put as much distance between myself and his fangs. Tears of pain sprang to my eyes as struggled to frantically breathe, nails struggling to scratch against the hand clenched tightly around my throat in vain.

"Derek!" I finally managed to gasp out through my labored breaths. "Derek, stop!"

As soon as my voice flooded into the room, Derek's face instantly froze, the electric blue draining from his eyes and returning to their natural forest green color. His face softened, the wolf-like features disappearing into thin air as I was finally face to face with the man that I had stumbled into in the library those few months ago. Finally, his hands released me, first the one wrapped around my throat and then the one that was clutching my wrist.

Once my throat was free, my hands instinctively went for my throat, trying to massage the aching and bruises out of the tender flesh as I gasped desperately for air. As my heartbeat finally began to steady, I found my eyes returning to Derek's, only to find him backing away from me, horror flooding his features as he realized what he had done.

"Derek—"I began, outstretching a hand to stop the anguish and pain that was slowly enveloping his forest green eyes.

"Don't," he growled, self-loathing pouring out of him in heavy waves. His gaze fled down to his hands, outstretched before him as if he had never quite seen them before. "Don't, Jane."

"But—"

"I said stop!" he snarled, his self-control beginning to crumble right before my very eyes.

"It was an accident," I tried to reason with him calmly, forcing my trembling legs to take a step towards him. He remained frozen in the spot. "I know you didn't mean to—"

"Didn't mean to what?" Derek spat, anger creeping into his rising voice. "Didn't mean to nearly kill you? If you hadn't stopped me—" his voice instantly broke off, his eyes searching around the room for some distraction from the emotion flooding his voice. Taking in a shaky breath, he continued furiously, "Why do you think that I 'didn't mean to' nearly rip your goddamn head off? What makes you so damn certain that I would never try to hurt you?"

Still quivering, I swallowed and, just as I was taking another step towards him, replied, "Because you've saved my life more than once, Derek." When he said nothing, I took another step, standing now just a couple feet away from him. Still, he refused to move, as if unaware that he could run away at any moment. Taking advantage of this, I continued, "You've risked your own life for mine, and I know that you would never lay a finger on me, not on purpose." My gentle, genuine words hung in the air between us as I took two more strides toward him and stood only a breath away, my eyes continuing to refuse to leave his steely gaze. "I trust you with my life, Derek Hale. Nothing will ever change that."

Derek said nothing at first. His hand reached up to my neck, his tender touch tracing the outline of his fingertips that had once been wrapped around my throat. My chin tipped up instinctively as his fingers caressed their up to my jawline, cupping the entire right side of my face as his thumb gently wiped away the stray tear that had lingered on my cheek.

"I'm sorry, Jane," whispered Derek, anguish filling his voice.

A light smile spread on my lips as I softly replied, "I know."

My breath caught in my throat as Derek's face began to near mine, soon so close that I could easily count each of the long eyelashes only centimeters away from me. Eyelids fluttering shut, warmth instantly spread throughout my body all the way down to my curling toes as his lips gently pressed against mine. Instinctively my arms wrapped around his neck, dragging him even closer to me as his fingers began to tangle themselves into my thick, curly hair. The warmth transformed to electric heat as our lips quickened and I compelled my body to melt into his.

Just as I was sure my lungs were close to bursting, Derek ripped himself away from me, disappearing from my embrace so hastily that the cold air surged to my body and forced me to shudder. Blinking in confusion, I turned to Derek, whose back was now turned to me as his hand reached up to his face, his mouth or his forehead I wasn't sure. My own lips were starting to burn and swell with passion and desire, frantic breaths escaping between them.

"I'm sorry," Derek quietly said, continuing to refuse to even turn his body to face mine. "I…shouldn't have done that."

Heat rushed to my cheeks as the disappointment in his voice forced the humiliation and shame to course through my veins. A mistake? It surely didn't feel like a mistake to me a moment ago—if anything, it'd felt like the one moment since I'd arrived in Beacon Hills that I'd done something exceptionally right. And now it was just labeled as a mistake…

"Of course," I lied through my teeth, swallowing the lump forming in the back of my throat. "It…it won't happen again."

Uncomfortable silence and tension flooded into the room, forcing me to swallow away my bitter tears and force my gaze up to Derek, who had finally turned on his heel and now gazed down at me with an unreadable emotion filling him eyes. Blinking, the memories of the state that I'd found him in only an hour before rushed back to me, allowing my embarrassment to briefly subside and ask him, "What happened to you, Derek? Your back…"

Instinctively Derek's hand reached to the wound that was etched into the middle of his back; when his fingers found the bandage I had tightly taped onto him, a slight frown formed on his face in confusion. His gaze found mine as he asked, "Did you-"

"I did the best I could," I shrugged sheepishly. "It wasn't healing as quickly as your arm before, so I just cleaned the wound and bandaged it up. It…" Biting my lip, I forced myself to continue, "What happened, Derek?"

His eyes narrowed, Derek's voice was low as he replied, "It was the Alpha. He attacked me—that's why it won't heal like before. Any injury from an Alpha doesn't heal as easily and as quickly as one from someone else."

"He attacked you?" I repeated, blanching. "How? Where?"

Slowly, right before me, Derek's eyes widened as the memories of when he was attacked began to flash before his eyes. "Stiles…Scott," he mumbled, glancing around the room as if he had completely lost his bearings. In the blink of an eye, Derek bolted out of the room, stopping short on the stairs as he grasped for his back.

"Derek, you have to slow down," I warned him even as he continued to race down the staircase. As we neared the foyer, I hurriedly told him, "Derek, what happened? What's wrong with Stiles and Scott?"

As I nearly bounded into Derek, who had frozen in the entryway of the living room, I frowned up at him in confusion. Following his stoic gaze to the television set, I caught the flashing "Breaking News" headline taking up the entire right corner of the screen as the words "Attack on Beacon Hills High" was spelled out before me.

Neither of us spoke as I mutely turned up the volume on the television and watched as the pretty, blonde female reporter, who was standing right in front of Beacon Hills High School, reported, "I'm here at Beacon Hills High where authorities have confirmed that one person, a custodian, has been found dead on the premises. Despite the fact that there were five other students locked in the school, there have been no other reported deaths or even injuries. The mystery of this attack on the local high school has only deepened as authorities have also released that their main suspect is on the run. Derek Hale, resident of Beacon Hills and who, sources say, even attended this school is said to be armed and dangerous. The public is warned to not approach him but to, instead, call the local authorities. If you have any information on Hale's whereabouts or any other details about this attack, please call…"

The reporter's peppy voice repeated the hotline number several times before the screen panned back to the anchors, who continued to discuss the case. Blinking in absolute confusion, I turned back to Derek, whose jaw was now clenched in fury. "Derek, what _happened _at the school?" I asked him.

"What, you think I attacked it, like those idiots said?!" demanded Derek hotly.

"Of course not," I hastily replied, startled by his abrupt rage. "But obviously something happened there, or else your name wouldn't be being dragged through the mud at this very moment."

Derek slumped onto the couch, cradling his head in his hands as he desperately tried to think. After muting the television and allowing the silent lights to flash in the dark living room, I silently sat beside him, waiting patiently for some sort of explanation. "I had the Alpha in my car—or, who I thought was the Alpha, some veterinarian that Scott works for—and I met Scott and Stiles at the school," began Derek, taking his head out of his hands and blankly staring at the mute television screen. "They thought they could use the intercom to draw the Alpha to the school. Before I knew what was happening, the Alpha came up behind me and managed to attack me. That's all I remember…everything else is a blur. I have no idea how they even knew I was there, let alone how they got the idea that I killed that man. I don't even remember deciding to come here, let alone actually crawling through your window. It must have been all…"

"Instinct," I finished for him, forcing Derek to rip his gaze from the television and to meet my eyes. Silently he nodded. Sighing, I ran my fingers through my hair, allowing it to finally escape from my loose pony-tail, and eventually said, "You can't leave here, Derek. After tonight you're going to be a wanted fugitive, and they'll throw you in jail without a second thought. If anyone sees you…" I tried not to allow the images of him being dragged off to jail to flood my mind, forcing myself to shut my eyes and take a breath. Reopening them, I found Derek's eyes searching my face. "You can't be seen by anyone, Derek."

"But Stiles and Scott—"

"They're fine," I told him firmly, pressing my palm into his shoulder as he began to rise and gently shoving him back down onto the couch. "The news would have reported if anyone else had been hurt—I'll call Stiles in the morning and figure out exactly what happened, but you need to rest. You're in no shape to run off and do anything, let alone head back to that school."

Derek sighed, running a hand over his face before reluctantly nodded. "I can't go back to my house—the police and the Argents will be watching it 24/7."

"I know," I replied with a sigh. "You'll just have to stay here—my grandparents will be gone for the weekend, so you should be safe here. By the time Monday comes along, hopefully we can clear some of this stuff up and get your name cleared, alright?"

At Derek's second nod, I slowly got to my feet, gently squeezing his shoulder on my way as I told him, "I'm going to make you some tea—I think I could use a cup as well."

Just as I began to near the kitchen, Derek's voice trailed after me, so low that, had my steps not been so quiet, I might have missed it: "Thank you."

Turning on my heel with a surprised smile spreading across my face, I replied just as quietly, "You're welcome," before heading into the kitchen.

* * *

**So, that was a long one! What did you all think? A lot happened in this chapter, I know, but I really wanted to move the plot along and start to get into the meat of season one, you know? Please leave a review and let me know what you all think! Thanks for reading! **


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**I know, I know—back at this again? I've finally gotten into the building climax of this story, so I'm really excited to keep it going. I also want to thank you all for your wonderful reviews, they really have helped me get through my writing drought and get back into the game. I also want to let you know that I posted pictures of Jane Brown (or, the actress I had in mind for Jane) on my profile page—they were manipulated by the amazing mcgonagiggles, whose been a great help to me in writing these past few chapters. Well, without further ado, here is the next installment of "Home":**

* * *

It was not the bright, skin-warming sunshine streaming through the living room windows that awoke me that next morning, nor the dull drone of the morning news reporter on the television set who was blabbering on about the surprisingly warm weather that was heading our way in the next few days. Instead, it was the throbbing ache situated in both the base of my neck, as well as the small of my back. Once my eyelids fluttered open, a soft groan escaped through my lips as I glanced around my living room, wondering briefly why I on Earth, one, my body was so incredibly sore, and, two, I was sleeping on the cramped couch, my knees bunched up tightly around my waist and my head awkwardly resting on the armrest.

It was only when, after blinking several times to allow my eyes to adjust to the warm morning light, I caught sight of the familiar dark-haired man sitting on the floor, his own neck uncomfortably pressing against edge of the seat cushion and his bare arms folded tightly against his shirt-clad chest that all the memories from the night before rushed back to me. Closing my eyes as some of the humiliation began to squirm within my stomach, I noticed Derek's head was tilted to the left, allowing me to abruptly realize that my face was only centimeters from his.

My lips tightly pressed against one another, I found myself silently studying Derek's features, once again amazed at how truly handsome he was. When I'd first met him those few months ago in the library aisles, I'd caught the typical aspects that most girls searched for—thick, jet black hair, penetrating forest green eyes, a strong jaw. But now, as I observed his handsome face once more, I caught the miniscule features that I had missed at first glance—his nose, crooked, no doubt, from being healed so many times over and over again, his brow sloped forward, even in sleep so intense and thoughtful. Along his stubble-filled jawline, I caught his gritted teeth, both rows grinding against one another even in his deep sleep. A not so easily decipherable tick, but one I had finally caught on to indeed.

A sudden knock came at the door, startling me out of my observations and forcing me to hastily sit up, causing the spasms in my back and neck to sharply shout out in pure agony. Wincing, I had no choice but to ignore them as Derek was instantly awake, gracefully scrambling onto his feet and beginning to step towards the door.

"Derek!" I hissed at him, causing his strides to halt instantly. He turned on his heel, and gazed at me questioningly as I hurriedly continued, "At this very moment, you're the most wanted man in the county—do you really think it's best to open my front door?"

His eyes narrowed, Derek gestured to the door and said shortly, "What if it's someone who's not exactly friendly?"

"Then you can lecture me later," I replied firmly, swinging my legs off the couch and sitting up, my hand instantly running over the sensitive, throbbing skin of my neck. Catching the frozen look on his face, I asked Derek, puzzled, "What?"

"Your neck," he said lowly, his narrowed eyes softening as I forced my own gaze down and caught the hint of deep purple bruises at the base of my neck.

Grimacing, I nearly missed Derek striding over to me, his hand reaching out to brush his fingertips lightly against my bruises. Holding my breath, I watched as the man before me closed his forest green eyes and, in the blink of an eye, the pain began to drain away from my system as a spreading warmth replaced it. My own eyes closed as the heat enveloped me—until Derek slowly dragged his hand away from my skin and returned it to his side.

Blinking in surprise, I nearly whispered in confusion, "What did you do?"

Just as I caught sight of the abrupt inky color of Derek's veins pulsing along his forearm, he quietly replied, "I took your pain away."

Once Derek made to turn, my own hand instinctively reached out to grab him, to touch him, to stop him from leaving me behind. Reluctantly he turned back around to face me, his gaze slowly meeting mine as I, biting my bottom lip nervously, told him, "Thank you."

There was no response. I could feel the heat pulsating between us as his hand gradually began to migrate to my waist. Just as his fingers were about to latch onto me, another knock came to the front door, startling us both and forcing Derek to jump away from me. His hand rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as he grumbled something incoherent to me and retreated farther into the living room, putting as much distance as possible between us.

Sighing quietly to myself, I struggled to ignore the flush splashing across my cheeks as I strode towards the front door, pausing to grab ahold of a stray sweatshirt that was hanging on the coatrack my grandmother kept in the foyer. Pulling it over my head to hide my bruises, I took in one last nervous breath before glancing through the peephole and, with a confused frown, unlocking the deadbolt and pulling the door open.

Uncle Jake stood before me on my front porch, dressed sharply in his iron-pressed Sheriff's uniform and looking rather sheepish standing on my doorstep. Deep circles had entrenched themselves under his bright blue eyes, whispering of another sleepless night for the Beacon Hills Sheriff. His gaze reluctantly met mine, hovering on my own, no doubt, disheveled appearance before saying, "Good morning, Jane. You remember Agent Roger White from the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit, don't you?"

My eyes shifted from my uncle to rest upon the man who Uncle Jake was gesturing to. Federal Agent Roger White stood only a couple feet away from my uncle, his hands shoved deep into his black suit pockets as he nodded curtly to me.

It had been almost a year already since I had last seen Mr. White—and yet, the year had not seemed to change him one bit. His salt-and-pepper hair was still cut rigidly short to his forehead, as if it had not grown since he had managed to graduate from the FBI Academy all those years ago. Despite the stuffy suit, it was hardly difficult to decipher that Mr. White was athletic, no doubt from years and years from chasing down criminals. Steely gray eyes glared down at me, lines puckering at their corners as his gaze only seemed to harden as each moment passed. Just as my eyes trailed from his scrutiny, I caught sight of the shiny pale pink scar that curved along the right side of his jaw. Apparently I had been wrong—perhaps some things had changed since I had last seen Mr. White.

"Good morning," I nodded to them both. "I…I can't exactly say it's nice to see you again, Mr. White."

Mr. White tilted his gaze down at his shoes, respectfully acknowledging the previous painful memories shared between us. "I can't disagree with you there, Miss Brown." He paused, his eyes scrutinizing my disheveled appearance, but his mouth remained shut, lips pressed tightly together.

"What can I do for you both this morning?" I asked, my attention turning to my uncle. Surely he would be straight forward with me as to why he was showing up on my doorstep, Federal Agent in tow, so early in the morning.

Uncle Jake sighed, shifting his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other as he reluctantly replied, "Have you watched the news this morning yet, Jane? Did you hear about—"

"The attack on the school?" I finished for him calmly. "Of course—it was all over the news all night long. Why do you ask?" I asked him skeptically, unwilling to allow my eyes to follow their instincts and glance over at Mr. White.

"We have evidence that, in the past few months, you have been associating yourself with Derek Hale?" Mr. White abruptly cut in. His tone was flat, emotion drained from his entirety as he continued to narrow his intense gaze down at me. "He's the main suspect in the school attack, as well as a growing list of murders here in Beacon Hills. We'd like to take you down to the police station to discuss your relationship with Hale, and possibly receive some help from you on his whereabouts."

I blinked in surprise, shifting my stare from Mr. White and Uncle Jake, and back to the Federal Agent that I had been hoping I would never have to meet again in my life. Uncle Jake looked reluctant for me to comply, obviously uncomfortable with the idea of having to question his own niece and goddaughter. Catching my glances, he quickly interjected, "We don't have to take you down to the station, Jane. If you want, we can just come inside and talk in private—"

"I'm afraid that's against protocols, Sheriff," said Mr. White coldly.

Just as Uncle Jake opened his mouth to argue on my behalf, I hastily interrupted, "It's fine. Really." I sent a meaningful glance at my uncle before returning my calm gaze back to Mr. White. "If I could just grab my purse, Mr. White? It'll only take me a second."

Pressing his lips tightly against one another once more, Mr. White reluctantly nodded.

Thinking quick, I bolted out of the foyer and, after finding my purse still sitting on the kitchen countertop and clumsily stumbling onto a pen buried at the bottom of my bag, hurriedly searched around the room for something to write on. My eyes falling onto a leftover napkin from my Chinese dinner the night before, my trembling fingers grabbed ahold of the thin, cheap paper and wrote onto the paper, in my small, cramped handwriting, my name and phone number. After carefully leaving the napkin onto the countertop and glancing around the empty first floor of my home, I let out a soft sigh and returned to the doorway.

"All set," I smiled tightly at both men before locking the door behind me, my insides squirming so roughly that I realized everything was quite the contrary.

* * *

"Sorry for the wait," Mr. White said coolly as he stepped into the interrogation room. The heavy, metal door closed behind him with a sharp click as he shifted the heavy manila folder tucked tightly under his arm to his other side.

I frowned up at him, glancing up at the ticking clock nailed high above the door. Unless I had completely forgotten how to tell time, only about twenty minutes had passed by since Uncle Jake had led me into the room. His face had been lined with concern, a tick forming in his jaw just as he stopped me from entering the room by gently placing a hand on my shoulder.

"You don't have to do this, Jane," he tried to reason with me, his worried eyes mirroring my own. "If you're not comfortable with being back here, we can talk back in my office."

"Everybody here knows I'm your niece, Uncle Jake," I quietly replied. "I don't want you giving me any special treatment—just treat me as any other witness."

A heavy sigh stumbled from my uncle as he looked down at me with his stubborn gaze. "I'm going to be standing on the other side of this mirror, alright? If you start feeling uncomfortable or just want to leave, just tell me. I don't what that Federal Agent says—my priority at this moment is you."

Feeling a tug at my heart, I weakly smiled up at my uncle as I squeezed his hand. "Thank you," I told him softly just before I stepped into the interrogation room, gearing myself for my next discussion with Agent White.

While I waited for those brief twenty minutes for some sign of what was to come behind the long metallic table, my mind drifted back to the last time I had seen Mr. White. Even in the safety of the Beacon Hills Police Station, I could still remember the bone-chilling, blustering wind rattling the living room windows as I numbly sat alone in the home of my father's partner, Pat Snow. Since it was far too painful for me to return to my home after my father's death, he had kindly invited me to stay at his house. Much earlier that morning he had headed off to work, reminding me that, if there were any problems whatsoever, I would just have to call him.

Still dressed in my wrinkled pajamas, I'd blankly been gazing at the black television screen all morning long when the doorbell had rung. It took me about five minutes to register the fact that I would have to answer the door, and another five to actually get to my feet and slowly walk towards the front door. Slowly I pulled it open to reveal Federal Agent White.

Even as he awkwardly wished me a good morning, I found myself unwilling to reply, nor to even offer him a smile. Darkness was still dripping down my forehead, forming a hood over my eyes and forcing me to roam through reality in a blank, numb haze. For some reason, even though I showed absolutely no interest for whatever his reasoning behind showing up at Pat's doorstep, he continued to linger, his mouth slightly ajar as he prepared himself for his next decision.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry, Miss Brown," said Mr. White quietly as a harsh gust of wind collided with us, goosebumps instantly breaking out on my skin as I uncomfortably crossed my bare arms over my chest.

Licking my dry, chapped lips, I managed to rasp out, "Why?"

"I'm afraid that…my superiors have called me back to Washington—it seems that…with the recent silence of your father's killer, as well as the lack of evidence recovered from his crime scene, my superiors believe that it's time that I begin to focus on more recent cases," he finished, his droning voice refusing to flicker with any emotion. "You'll be happy to know that your father's department will continue to work on finding whoever's responsible—"

"It doesn't matter," I abruptly cut him off. Mr. White blinked in surprise, but I didn't even bother for him to ask for the reasoning behind my interruption as I numbly continued, "None of it will bring him back. In the end, it won't matter."

Mr. White sighed, a long sound that caused a puff of smoke to emit from his lip. My eyes watched the gusts of wind eviscerate it, even as he replied, "You're right, Miss Brown. But, maybe in the long run—"

"Please," I stopped him once more, forcing my gaze to meet his as my fingers had already begun to inch the door close. "Please, Mr. White, just leave me be."

"But, Miss Brown, you should know—"

"Good bye," I softly said to him as I shut the door in his face, unwilling to hear any more of his emotionless words.

Now, as I gazed up at him, my mind much clearer than it had been on that miserable December day, I found myself regretting closing my front door in his face. After all, he had only been trying to help me. But my apology instantly became lodged in my throat just as I opened my mouth to begin—perhaps it was seeing Mr. White's complete indifference that frightened my apology from emerging out in the open and forced my tongue still.

Mutely Mr. White plucked three black and white photographs from the manila folder and placed themin front of me on the table, each one perfectly parallel to the other. Curious, I tilted myself forward in the metal chair to glance at these photos, and numbly noticed my back stiffening.

All three were somewhat blurry, as if they had been stripped from surveillance photos. As I studied the first two, I recognized the Beacon Hills Library parking lot, from the poorly maintained, overgrown hedges to the familiar front entrance. As I took a closer look at the first one, it took me a moment to realize just who the two figures walking up the steps of the library were—one was myself and the other was Laura Hale. A pang resounded through my heart at the sight of her smiling face. Grimacing, I turned my gaze to the next photo.

Once more, there were two figures in this photo, although their positions were far different from the previous photograph. I instantly recognized the sleek, black car of Derek Hale in the center of the photo as the two figures leaned on the car, one on top of the other. Just as my frown began to set onto my lips, the vague memory of Derek ripping me out of his car and shoving me up against his car the day after we had first met came rushing back to me. Taken out of context, however, Derek and I seemed to be in a rather humiliating embrace, one that forced a heated flush to rush to my cheeks. Forcing my eyes away from the photo once more, I turned to the third.

It barely took me a second to realize that I was gazing down at the gas station Derek and I had stopped at those few weeks ago, back when I had first met Mr. Argent and he had offered me his warning. Just thinking back to his cautioning words, my bruises slightly throbbed from underneath the neck of my sweatshirt. Shifting uncomfortably, I turned away from the black car sitting in front of the gas pump, my face visibly in the passenger seat, and gazed up at Mr. White once more.

"Let's begin," said the federal agent as he calmly settled into the chair across from mine. He pulled out a small notepad and pen from his pocket and turned his cold gaze to my face. "How about we start off with how you came to meet Laura and Derek Hale?"

"Laura came into the library for research during the summer, all the way until her death," I replied in a steady voice, not allowing my nerves to inch up into my words. "After she passed away, Derek approached me hoping to get information on what exactly she was researching."

"And what did you tell him?"

"That Laura was a private person, and she didn't give me any details," I told him.

"So that's how you met," nodded Mr. White, jotting down a few words onto his notepad and returning his eyes to my face. "How do you know Mr. Hale now?"

Licking my lips, I quietly said, "We're aquaintance. He's not exactly the friendly type, in case you haven't met him."

"Really?" asked Mr. White, surprise creeping into his voice. He gestured the tip of his ink pen to the middle photograph, the one of Derek and me pressed up against his car. "He looks particularly friendly in this picture."

"It's taken out of context," I tried to tell him.

"How so?"

Pursing my lips and slightly narrowing my eyes, I shortly responded, "You and I both know I don't have to answer that. I assure you, my personal life has no place in this investigation."

A smirk began to slink onto Mr. White's face, but he simply nodded in response to my curt words. He turned back to the manila folder, still tucked into his lap, and pulled out two more photographs to place in front of me. Unlike the previous three photos, judging from the exceptional clarity, these had been taken by a high-quality color camera. Just one glance at the photos caused the frown on my face to deepen.

Crime scene photos were not uncommon to my eyes; my forgetful father would occasionally leave the files he was forced to bring home when his shifts were over around the house, allowing my curiosity to overcome my instincts as I studied the crystal clear photographs of bruised, battered victims, as well as the occasional broken, dead bodies. The constant years of peeking had toughened my resolve to seeing blood and bodies, even as an adult.

Now, as I glanced down at the pictures of Laura's lifeless face and the mutilated body of, I later recognized, the murdered janitor at the high school, I barely squirmed uncomfortably. Instead, I simply frowned and forced my eyes back up to Mr. White.

"This is the work of your 'aquaintance'," said Mr. White simply, his dead eyes glaring down at me. "He murdered his sister in cold blood, broke into the high school and, while terrorizing five of your classmates, including your own cousin, he slaughtered this man."

It took me a moment to eventually open my mouth to respond to his accusations. Eventually I calmly asked, "And where is your proof, Mr. White?" Not even bothering to allow him respond, I continued, "I happen to know from a reliable source that animal hair was found on Laura's body, and that there's no other evidence tying Derek to her murder. Yes, her body may have been buried near the remains of their home, but you have absolutely nothing to place him near where she was buried. And what about the attack on the school? What could you possibly have to put him at that crime scene?"

Annoyance flickering in his eyes, he shortly responded, "Not that it's any of your concern, but one of the students admitted to Derek being behind the attack, and saw him at the school that night."

"And what else?" I continued to push. "You have the word of the teenager. Even I know that leaves with you a very, very weak case against Derek Hale."

"If you're so positive about this, Miss Brown," said Mr. White, his voice growing colder with each word, "why doesn't he come forward? Why's he hiding? Why don't you have your 'aquaintance' come forward and we can clear this all up?"

Shrugging my shoulders nonchalantly, I told him, "I wish I could. I have no idea where Derek is. I haven't seen him in more than a few weeks now."

Mr. White pressed his lips together, his eyes closely scrutinizing my frowning face for more than a minute before he let out a short sigh. "You do know that your uncle is watching you on the other side of that mirror, Miss Brown?" he asked, gesturing his hand to the seemingly ordinary mirror behind him. "He would be very disappointed to know that you're lying to me at this very moment."

This time, I refused to respond, continuing to gaze at him coolly as I waited patiently for him to make his next move. It took him only a few minutes to sigh to himself once more and pull one last photo out of the manila folder, silently placing it atop the growing pile of photographs before me. Mutely I turned my eyes to the single photograph as all the air rushed out of my lungs as the crime scene photo ripped itself through my very core. Numbly I overheard Mr. White softly say, "He would be disappointed too, Jane."

My father's lifeless body gazed back up at me, blood creeping out from his stab wounds and staining the dark blue carpet of our old living room. I instantly recognized his body, as this was hardly the first time I had seen it before. Just as before, his eyes were still open, dark irises missing the brightness and laughter that I had grown up with my entire life. Hurriedly I tore my gaze from the photograph, eyes tightly shut as I struggled to stop my breath from coming out in short, ragged breaths.

"Look at it!" Mr. White abruptly shouted, forcing my eyes to open and stare at the photograph of my father's body, only centimeters from my face now as he shoved it in my face. I distantly noticed how tears were beginning to stream down my cheeks, but I paid them no attention. "How would your father feel if he knew you were lying to the police, to your uncle, to me—"

The interrogation room door instantly banged open, Uncle Jake, trembling with rage, standing in the doorway. In the blink of an eye, he stormed over to the table and ripped the photograph out of the surprised Mr. White's hand and slamming it, face down, back onto the table.

"I don't know about Washington," he snarled at Mr. White, "but this isn't how we do things in Beacon Hills."

And, ignoring Mr. White's protests, Uncle Jake bundled me up in his arms and slowly pulled me out of the room, his quiet, whispered words into my ears, although indistinguishable, warm and kind. No matter how quickly he spoke, however, nothing could erase the burned image of my father's lifeless body etched into my mind.

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**So, that's the end of this chapter. What'd you all think? Please leave a review and let me know what you thought! Thanks for reading! (:**


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**I just want to thank you all for the lovely reviews you've been leaving. They really help me stay interested in writing this story, and keep my muse staying fresh. (: Well, I won't keep you all for long—without further ado, here is the next installment of "Home":**

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"Jane."

I blinked, the sunlight staining the insides of my eyes as I reluctantly turned my gaze up to Uncle Jake in the driver's side of his police cruiser, who was frowning down at me with concern wrinkling his forehead. As the cheery, high-noon sunshine splashed through the windshield, the intense aging of Uncle Jake's face startled me. Dark, creasing circles were forming under his deep blue eyes, while it seemed the age lines around the corners of his mouth were growing right before my own matching eyes. Streaks of silver were inching into my uncle's hairline, glinting in the sunlight as I returned his frown.

"Are you alright?" asked Uncle Jake, his eyes, seething with discomfort, abruptly choosing to glance all around us and avoid my blank stare. I silently watched as his line of sight eventually fell upon the front porch of my grandparents' home, zeroing in on the wind chimes blissfully floating in the breeze.

Wiping my knuckles against my sore, puffy eyes, I let out a soft sigh before replying, "I'll be fine. It's just…" I wasn't even sure how to finish my trailing sentence; the words that were spinning in my mind just seemed to flutter away as I tried to work them upon my lips.

"White was completely out of line," said Uncle Jake, picking up my trailing sentence and morphing it into his own. "He had no right to question you in that manner—you didn't have any holes in your story, you were a credible witness. I'm not sure why, but he seemed to just have this agenda against you, Jane."

Those words gradually beginning to reach my ears, I closed my eyes and let out a soft breath of air, trying to control the stinging emotions and memories that were flashing right before me. Allowing my heart to settle, I turned back to Uncle Jake and asked, "Did he tell you about his history with Dad?"

Just as more concerned lines began to sprout upon his forehead, a shake of the head was my response. Sighing once more and, refusing to bring my eyes up to Uncle Jake's puzzled face, I quietly told him, "Agent White worked with Dad up in Portland on that case with the serial rapist. He was one of the few people who got to speak with Dad before he…up until his death. Mr. White tried to even talk to me about Dad's death but…well, I wasn't exactly in a listening type of mood at the time."

When I reluctantly began to turn back to Uncle Jake, surprise rushed through my system as I caught his long fingers, hesitant and unsure, kindly patting the top of my trembling hand. "With what happened to your father…it would have been hard for anyone, let alone someone who went through what you did. You can't blame yourself for turning White away when you were in that state of mind. I'm sure he understood—"

"It doesn't matter," I cut him off, voice thick and a lump forming in the back of my throat. "Apparently Mr. White holds it against me, out of spite or something else perhaps, and he's not going to let up anytime soon. And now it's just going to make your job more difficult, and—"

"Hey, hey," Uncle Jake gently interrupted me, his hand now, with more assurance, squeezing mine as tears abruptly began to sprout at the corners of my eyes. I hurriedly brushed them away with my free hand, wishing that I could get control of my tumultuous emotions before Uncle Jake truly thought I was a sniveling, naïve little girl. "Listen to me, Jane," he continued, forcing me to turn my teary gaze onto him. "Don't concern yourself with this Agent White, or this case, or me having to do my job. Just focus on being a kid and having some fun—it won't last long, trust me." A gurgled laugh escaped my throat, and a small smile formed on Uncle Jake's face as he added, "Making sure you do just that—laugh and smile and be happy—is my real job, Jane. You and Stiles are my number one priorities, no matter what happens. Always remember that."

Shakily smiling up at him, I nodded before shyly wrapping my arms around his neck. At the stiffening of his spine, I was positive that I had completely shocked his system, as I'd hardly hugged him since I was a little girl; but, at that moment, it felt like the perfect action to take. "Thanks, Uncle Jake," I whispered just as I felt his warm arms begin to encircle me.

"Any time," he murmured in return.

* * *

Several sharp knocks at my front door jarred me out of my light dozing, my heart still racing from the abrupt interruption as I jumped up on the couch. My English book clattered to the floor, momentarily forgotten as I hurriedly glanced around the dark living room, only to find it empty.

When I'd eventually stepped through the threshold of my entryway, I hadn't been exactly sure what I expected to find inside my home. Perhaps that Derek had stuck around, or that he'd continue to lay low at my house until some of the heat from the local police eventually died down enough for him to head back to the remains of his own home. But, when I'd discovered there wasn't even a whisper of activity in my home, I couldn't deny the disappointed tug of my heart as I stepped through the entire first floor, hoping to find some sign that Derek would be returning eventually. The only one I found was the disappearance of my phone number on the kitchen countertop—everything was just as I'd left it early that morning.

Even once I'd eventually settled down onto the living room couch, textbooks and binders piled high in my arms, I had hardly been able to concentrate on my schoolwork. Not even the internal struggle of Rodion Raskolnikov within the pages of _Crime and Punishment _by Fyodor Dostoyevsky could stop my mind from wandering to the whereabouts of the enigmatic man who was ruthlessly plaguing my thoughts. What if he was caught? Worse, what if somehow the Argents were able to track him down and take matters into their own hands? Visions swam so hastily within my mind that I was forced to clamp my eyes shut and press my trembling fingers over my eyelids.

My surroundings now completely submerged in darkness, my thoughts were allowed to drift toward the night before and the moment when Derek's embrace had completely turned me into putty. Just the distant memory of the heat that erupted within my body as soon as his lips had met mine forced my toes to curl. Sure, I'd been kissed once or twice before when I was a child and I was still trying to decipher what a cootie exactly was, but none of them had been anywhere near this incredible. None of them had twisted my insides into tight knots and none of them had brought about a rich flush upon my face just from reliving it.

And yet, I couldn't help but think as I shifted slightly on the couch, eyes continuing to remain closed and hand slowly slipping back to my side, Derek had labeled it a mistake, something that should never happen again. Something that _would _never happen again. But, when he had dragged my body to his and tangled his long fingers into my curly hair, it had never, in one instance, felt even the slightest bit wrong. If anything, it felt like I belonged there, wrapped tightly in his arms and safe from the rest of reality. That wasn't a mistake—no matter what he said, no matter what he did, it would never be a mistake to me.

Just as my thoughts wandered to the possibility that Derek could possibly feel the same, no matter what he had said the night before, my mind began to drift away in light sleep, fingertips slipping away from my face as my body relented. It may have been only a moment, an hour, or the entire day before I was jolted awake by those knocks, blearily blinking and trying to see through the heavy darkness within my living room.

Stubbornly refusing to acknowledge my trembling fingers, I clumsily reached over and flipped on the lamp switch beside the couch, the knots in my stomach unwinding as the pale light flooded the room. Letting loose a soft sigh, I got to my sock-clad feet and, without hesitation, tucked my handgun into the waistband of my jeans. With the warning Derek had wordlessly offered me after being attacked by the Alpha, I didn't want to take any chances, especially when I was alone in the house.

In a few short, hurried strides, I found myself standing in front of the front door. Without thinking, I wrenched it open, revealing a smirking face I had been praying I would never see again, not for quite a long time.

"Hello Jane," smiled Chris Argent, straight teeth glistening in the moonlight. "I hope I'm not disturbing you tonight."

At the sight of Mr. Agent standing right before me, empty-handed but surely hiding some sort of weapon, I felt my back stiffen as I mutely tried to find the words to reply to him. Releasing the shaky breath that I hardly had noticed in the first place, I quietly asked, "What…what can I do for you, Mr. Argent?"

"Oh, I was just checking up on here. Since you're such a dear friend to Allison, I would hardly want anything to happen to you," he replied smoothly. Stepping an inch closer to the doorway and forcing me to instinctively take a step away from him, Mr. Argent used the brief slice of space to creep into the foyer. Another gleaming smile spread across his face as he glanced around my home, eventually asking me as his searching eyes turned to me, "Are you alright, Jane? You look a little pale."

To be honest, I was fairly positive that my face was about to ignite into flames. Sweat was beginning to bead at the back of my neck, and my palms were becoming slicker by the second. Nonetheless, I forced myself to tightly smile up at him and reply, "I'm fine, Mr. Argent. And there's nothing to report here. Just getting some studying done."

Mr. Argent, while nodding, did not budge from his spot. He glanced around the foyer once more and asked curiously, "Are your parents even here, Jane? It's not safe for a young girl to be home all alone, especially in these dark times."

Ignoring his last little comment, I tipped my chin up stubbornly and firmly replied, "My grandparents are actually just next door, talking to our neighbors. Their dog has been barking nonstop for the past few nights, so they're going to see if they can straighten the problem out."

Despite, in my personal opinion, my convincing lie, a knowing smile spread across Mr. Argents face as he peered down at me. "And what about your parents, Jane? Whatever happened to them?"

"They're both dead," I reluctantly told him, shifting uncomfortably under his intense, unrelenting gaze as I tried to find some distraction from the fact that this werewolf hunter was standing directly in my foyer.

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Mr. Argent genuinely, dragging my hesitant stare back to his slightly softened features. "It must be extremely difficult for you, living without your mother and father."

"I get by," I quietly inputted, continuing to shift my weight from one foot to the other.

"Nonetheless, I am sorry, Jane," said Mr. Argent softly. "I'm afraid that, in this day and age, it is extremely difficult for a young adult to have both their parents to look up to." Sighing, the older man ran a hand over his face as he continued, "I'm just thankful that Allison has both her mother and father there for her. It would certainly devastate her if anything were to happen to either of us, especially if it were indirectly caused by one of her dearest friends."

At these last several words, Mr. Argent's gaze instantly narrowed down at me, entire body freezing as he continued to stare pointedly at me. In the blink of an eye, the tension within the foyer thickened with each second that passed by, crackling right before me. My shoulders stiffened as I refused to relent to avoid his gaze, and instead continued to stare up at him. Eventually, after a few more silent moments, I found the courage to open my mouth and curtly say, "I know why you are here, Mr. Argent. You must believe me when I tell you that I haven't heard from Derek Hale since that night at the gas station. Your warning…well, it stuck with me. I don't need that drama in my life, especially in my senior year. I have my own priorities to worry about."

Mr. Argent waited a breathless moment before nodding his head, a proud smile now stretched across his face. "That's good to hear, Jane. I wouldn't want to see you in danger due to a poor decision."

Returning his nod, I added confidently, "I haven't seen Derek since that night. But, if I do hear anything, I'll be sure to give you a call? I have Allison's home number in my phone, so you'll be the first person to hear anything from me."

"That sounds like a good plan," he replied. "Well, I suppose that's all I needed to hear. It was good to see you again, Jane. You should come over and see Allison sometime—I'm sure she would love to have you over." Slowly the older man began to shuffle towards the front door, his long fingers reaching out to grab ahold of the door knob. My heartbeat raced impatiently as I waited for him to slowly open the door. As soon as he did, allowing the cool night air to wisp through the doorway, Mr. Argent turned back to me and smiled one last time, adding, "Have a good night, Jane."

As soon as the door shut, I realized I had barely even returned his smile or his wish for me to have a good night. Instead, my mouth formed a tight line as my hands clenched into trembling fists, nails digging into my palms. Once I caught the sound of a car door slamming shut, I jumped, continuing to shake as I hurriedly rushed to the front door and wrenched the deadbolt shut.

* * *

Once Mr. Argent left, I found myself pacing the living room floor, praying that Derek would arrive at my house soon enough. I hardly felt comfortable knowing that now the notorious werewolf hunter was now searching for Derek as well, and that he had come directly to my house in his investigation. There was only one thing I was certain of, and that was I wouldn't be able to rest comfortably until Derek gave me some sort of sign that he was safe and sound. Until then, I vowed to myself as I settled onto the couch and tucked my cold bare feet underneath my bottom, I would refuse to move from that very spot until he walked through that door. I didn't care if Mr. Argent brought his entire team of hunters back to my home to search for Derek—I wasn't leaving, not now, not ever.

As the minutes and hours ticked by and moonlight struggled to squeeze through the warm maroon curtains, I found my eyelids growing heavier and heavier. My head stubbornly fought to stay upright, and my mind became fuzzier with each moment that passed. Determinably I battled with my inner exhaustion, but my body had a completely different agenda—soon my eyelids fluttered closed, and my heavy head sunk onto the armrest, surrendering to the vicious ritual of sleep.

Who knows how much time passed by before I found myself being slowly awaken, this time, not by a knock at the front door, but of the strange, tingling feeling of being suspending in the air. Drowsily I opened my eyes, expecting to find myself still lightly snoozing on my living room couch, and instead stumbling onto the fact that I was being carried up the staircase. My head rested on a strong shoulder, chilly hands tucked tightly on top of my stomach. Just as I went to move my head to find out who on Earth was carrying me, heart thumping madly against my ribcage, a quiet, familiar voice floated through the air and gently told me, "Relax. It's just me."

At the sound of Derek's voice, I instantly found myself settling into his arms, heart calming at the fact that he had finally returned. Soft voice still teeming with exhaustion, I softly asked him, "What…what are you doing?"

"Bringing you to your room," he replied in the same soft voice, despite it only being the two of us in the entire empty house. "It's time you slept in your own bed—I'll take the couch."

"But…" Eyes still closed, I found myself chewing my bottom lip as I tried to remember the events from the day. It seemed they were all a blur in my fuzzy mind, the memories rushing into one long shadow. "Where'd you go? When I came back, you were gone."

"I had some things I had to do," replied Derek lowly, the creak of my bedroom door following his response as I felt his pace beginning to slow. Whispers of bleach brushed at my face, forcing me to wrinkle my nose in slight irritation. Forcing my tired eyes open, I abruptly stumbled onto the fact that Derek's lips, unbeknownst to him, were only centimeters away from my face as he gently lowered me onto my bed. His soft, warm breath tickled my cheek, causing a soft smile to sprout onto my face just as his dark, forest green eyes settled onto me.

Despite the fact that my back was now lying flat on my bed, moments passed before Derek went to unwrap his strong, leather-clad arms from around me. I vaguely wondered when he had bothered to retrieve his leather jacket from my bedroom, just as I felt his warmth beginning to subside from within me. Instincts kicking in, I hurriedly reached out a trembling hand and pressed my fingers into his arm just as he was turning away from me. "Wait," I whispered, sitting up as my fingers refused to unlatch from his forearm. Derek froze, slowly turning to face me as he waited silently for me say something, anything, about why I refused to allow him to leave me.

What exactly my initial intentions were when I had first grabbed him, I'll never truly know. Maybe I wanted to warn him about the fact that the FBI were now looking into the murder investigation at the school, or that Mr. Argent had turned up at my home in his hunt for him. But, as these memories rushed through my mind at a rapid pace, there was only one that settled easily within me, one that had been plaguing my mind ever since it had occurred the night before.

Rising up onto my knees, soft, pale yellow quilt digging into my knees, my shy, free hand crept up to his face, cupping his scratchy cheek and allowing him to stare directly down at me. Just as my face began to near his, my eyes searched his, waiting for him to pull away, to warn me that this was wrong. There was nothing—only hooded emotions that were impossible for me to read. Refusing to turn away, not now, I gently pressed my lips to his.

Initially, Derek's body was motionless I continued to kiss, as if he was completely frozen on the spot. Just as I began to consider pulling away, that perhaps this had been one of the worst mistakes I had ever made, I felt one of his arms slowly encircling my waist, pulling me flush up against him. Fingers now tangling themselves within my unruly hair, his tongue prodded at my bottom lip, eventually gaining access to my mouth as our kiss was deepened. The temperature of my core sky rocketed as I buried my own fingers in his hair, dragging myself even closer to him.

At the slight tug of his hair, Derek's back stiffened just for a second before gently pulling away from my embrace. Blinking my eyes in surprise, I peered up at him just as he said, shaking his head, "Jane…I…we can't do this. It's not right."

"How is it not right?" I asked him, stubbornly frowning up at him and sitting back on my ankles. "You know that it doesn't feel wrong—that this is what you want. How could that possibly be wrong?"

"Don't you see?" he snapped irritably. "You're putting yourself in danger just by being allied with me. Look at what happened to my family—look at what happened to Laura, for God's sake. In case you haven't noticed, I don't exactly have too many allies here."

"Even more of a reason for you to stay with me," I tried to argue. "You know that, deep inside—why else would your instincts bring you here last night, when you were hurt? How can you possibly explain that?"

"I don't even know why that happened," said Derek, shaking his head. "I should never have come—it only brought you more trouble. Like Argent coming here tonight—"

"How'd you know that?" I instantly asked, my frown only deepening in confusion.

"I saw him as he was leaving," replied Derek. "I waited for a couple hours before showing up at your door, just in case he had someone stationed on your street."

"But he doesn't even think that you're here," I reasoned with him. "I honestly think he believed me when I told him I hadn't seen you in weeks. I just pumped his tires by telling him that his warning had worked on me."

Derek stubbornly shook his head, running a hand over his face as he sighed. Strongly rubbing his jaw with his fingers, he said, "It doesn't matter, Jane. Ever since that night at the gas station…Argent knew that you had some sort of connection with me. He wasn't sure what, but it was something—he picked up on it as soon as I refused to let you get out of the car. He knows me well enough to know that I wouldn't protect just anyone."

Furrowing my brow, I hesitated before telling him, "So…it doesn't matter, really, what happens between us? No matter what, Argent will always know that there's something between us, whether it be friendship or a connection or…or something else. So why does this, right here—"I pressed my palm into his large hand, squeezing it warmly as I continued, "how does it change anything?"

When Derek refused to respond, his eyes refusing to even meet mine, I added, my voice softening to a low whisper, "Please, Derek. Just please—"

Derek's lips abruptly collided with mine, instantly cutting me off and forcing my arms to instinctively wrap around his neck. His force was so strong that I was pushed back onto my bed. Derek's firm body pressed tightly over mine, his weight slowly transferring to his elbows as he leaned over me, continuing to passionately kiss me, seductively drawing my tongue to his. My hands slowly slid from his neck to his shoulders, lightly digging my nails into his leather jacket as gradually his pressure against my lips began to lessen. Just as my lungs were sure to positively burst, Derek slowly pulled away from me, allowing us to both to catch our ragged breaths.

"Was that so hard?" I whispered up to him, lightly smiling as I pressed my fingertips to his warm cheek.

Derek shook his head, smirk growing as he quietly said, "It's getting really old, having you always being right."

"Well," I began, impish grin forming on my lips, "maybe if you just listened to me, I wouldn't have to prove you wrong all the time."

Derek lowly chuckled just before he gently pressed his lips to mine once more.

* * *

**Okay, so I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I'm so sorry it took so long for me to get out, I've just been so busy with work and school lately. But I hope the ending made up for the wait, just a tad bit. (: Thank you all for your continued interest in the story, and please don't forget to leave a review behind! Thanks for reading!**


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**First of all, and I know I've been saying this a lot, but I just want to continue to tell you all how much I truly do appreciate the continued interest you all have been showing in this story. It really helps me continue to write these chapters at such an easy pace, and it's such a relief that you all have continued to enjoy Jane's story. So, I won't keep you all for long, just, again, thank you all so much. Also, I want to apologize with the slight wait on this latest chapter—I've just been so busy with school and work. Well, without further ado, here is the next installment of "Home":**

* * *

That morning, and forgive me for my incredibly humiliating lack of words, was absolutely perfect. Sunshine streamed through my open window, warming my face as the light breeze tickled the stray strands of unruly hair fluttering across my cheeks. The fresh, earthy scent of soil and roses drifted into my room, vaguely reminding me that, for once, the fast-approaching winter would not mean the cold, miserable death of the beauty of nature. But none of these lovely aspects were what truly brought the soft smile that spread across my face as soon as my mind began to awaken: it was the distant, toe-curling memory of Derek's lips on mine that did the job.

My legs slowly uncurling as I stretched the cramps out of my limbs, my eyelids fluttered open to find that my bedroom was completely empty, besides myself, of course. I blinked as the warm sunlight splashed onto my flannel sheets, which were still tangled in my legs, and slowly the memories from the night came rushing back to me. My lips still felt swollen from the heated, furious kisses that Derek had bestowed on me the night before, still so warm that my fingertips unconsciously brushed against the plump flesh.

Color staining my cheeks as the memories of the night before continued to replay through my mind, I pulled my jean-clad knees up to my chest and briefly wondered if Derek was alright on the couch last night. I'd shyly offered to have him stay in my bed with me, but, his intense forest green eyes boring down into mine, he'd quietly told me that he wouldn't be able to trust himself, especially so close to the full moon. So, pressing his lips to my forehead, he'd whispered good night to me before vanishing out my bedroom door.

Even now, as I silently sat in my cooling bed, I couldn't help but revel in the fact that, somehow, I'd managed to get through Derek Hale's stubborn tendencies and allowed him to, just for a moment, trust me. I'd felt it, as his fingertips pressed into my bare arms and his lips completely dominated my own—it may have been distant and just barely hidden underneath the surface of his touch, but it had been there. And that was just enough to make my heart warm just at the sight of his face so close to mine, at his fingers tangling in my hair.

Sighing to myself, shaking the jumbled thoughts from my head, and forcing my own fingers through my tangled hair, I glanced over at my bedside table. Just as I outstretched my arm to reach for my cell phone, it instantly lit up, vibrating loudly throughout my empty room and forcing me to jump. Rolling my eyes at my racing heart, I grabbed the phone and opened it up, pressing it to my ear as I rasped out, "Hello?"

"Do you not know how to answer your phone?" the furious voice of my cousin snarled into my ear, his tones so harsh and loud that I nearly jumped out of my groggy stupor and forced my phone from my ear. Letting loose another dreadful sigh, I pushed the phone back to my ear and listened as Stiles was saying, "…figured you'd want to know what happened at the school and…" Stiles' voice faltered, his tone shifting uncomfortably as he continued, "And, well, what…uh…what happened to Derek…I'm sure you really cared about him, Jane, but it's probably better this way—"

"What are you talking about, Stiles?" I cut him off, eyes narrowing at bookcase in front of me as I, puzzled, waited for my cousin's response. What the hell could he be trying to say? When he didn't answer, I added, impatient now, "What happened to Derek?"

"Well, at the school, when it was attacked, the Alpha showed up and attacked Derek—"

"Stiles, I know all of this," I sighed, frustrated as I ran my fingers through my hair and stretched my legs out before me on my bed. "Derek told me all of this after he came to my house that night."

"W-what?" stammered my cousin through the phone. "But…how could he have done that? The Alpha killed him at the school. Scott and I saw it happen."

"If that's true, then I've had a ghost living in my house for the past two days," I said. Mind racing now, I couldn't stop myself as I furiously demanded, voice beginning to tremble with emotion, "Did you really think that Derek was dead this whole time? And you decided to wait until now to tell me this?"

"I tried to call—"

"So you would tell me over the phone that he was dead?" I snapped, voice growing louder with each word, "as if you were just commenting on the weather? Are you kidding me, Stiles? Oh, and, let's not forget, is this why you decided to tell Uncle Jake and the rest of the police force that Derek was the one who attacked the school and now he's the most wanted man in the entire county?! What were you thinking?!"

"I wasn't the one that blamed Derek," replied Stiles defensively. "That was Scott, not me!"

"It doesn't matter!" I nearly shouted into my phone, hands now trembling in fury. Trying to calm both my boiling temper and my frantically beating heart, I took in a couple deep breaths and, pressing my fingers to my temples, quietly said, "We just have to figure this out, Stiles. With both the police and the FBI looking for Derek now—"

"Wait, the FBI?" repeated Stiles, blanching. "How do you know the FBI is here?"

Biting my lip as the burned image of my father's broken body came rushing back to my mind, I grimaced before responding, "An agent is here from their Behavioral Analysis Unit to try and help Uncle Jake hunt down Derek. Since I've been seen with Derek ever since he came back, as well as with his sister, they wanted to question me about his whereabouts."

"What'd you say?"

"That I hadn't heard from him in weeks," I replied shortly. I had no desire to let Stiles know about the tactics that Agent White had used to pry this information out of me and, fortunately, he seemed to pick up on my tone.

"So, Derek is with you now?" Stiles eventually asked after a few moments of both of us thinking deeply.

"Yes. Nana and Pappy are away for the weekend, so he's safe here."

"You're alone, in your house, with him?"

"Yes," I repeated, growing impatient now.

"Alright," said Stiles, and I could vaguely imagine him nodding slowly to himself. "I'm not even going to comment on how I absolutely do not like the fact that it's just the two of you in that house." Just as I opened my mouth to argue with his insistent need to worry about me, he cut me off, adding, "But what exactly do you plan on doing with him after your grandparents come back? In case you forgot, they don't exactly leave the house that often during the day, when you're not there."

Biting my lip, I refused to initially answer him. I hadn't exactly thought that far ahead just yet. I'd been so naively caught up in the fact that Derek had actually kissed me that I'd completely forgot about the outside world, that reality would be knocking on my front door in any second. What the hell _was _I going to do with him after Nana and Pappy returned home? It wasn't like they had jobs to run to during the day—both were retired, and had no problem hanging around the house all day, forcing Derek to have no way of actually staying in my house while I was off at work and school. Sighing, I reluctantly relented, "I hadn't thought of that yet."

A couple seconds of silence filled my room as I waited for Stiles to say something, anything. Just when I was about to ask him for some sort of idea as to what to do, my cousin offered, "He can stay at my house, I guess. Dad'll be too busy searching for Derek Hale all over Beacon Hills to actually look for him in his own house."

"Stiles," I began, my voice trailing off as the guilt over my rage towards him started to eat away at me. "Stiles," I repeated, "thank you. I know you're not exactly fond of Derek—"

"It doesn't matter," said Stiles resolutely. "Anyways, I'm not doing this for him. If he really matters that much to you…" He sighed, and I caught the annoyance edging into his voice as he said, "Just make sure that he lays low until Monday."

"He will," I promised. "And Stiles?"

"Yeah?" he asked reluctantly.

"Thank you. For everything."

* * *

As I tried to silently creep down the staircase, barefoot and dressed in a fresh pair of jeans and a long-sleeved, plain purple shirt, I wasn't exactly sure what I'd stumble upon. There was a confusing scent in the air, one that was vaguely familiar but I could hardly place. Wrinkling my nose at the strong, overbearing scent, my hands trailed down the staircase bannister as I lightly stepped down onto the first floor, peering around the living room to find it completely empty. A frown now staining my face, I followed the odd scent into the kitchen and peeked into the room.

There, to my utmost surprise, was Derek Hale, clad in his clothes from the night before, standing in front of my stove, a spatula in one hand and an exceptionally annoyed expression on his face. The trashcan, which was usually hidden in the alcove underneath the sink, was a foot away from him, nearly overflowing with broken egg shells and the culprit of the overwhelming smell of sulfur, the burnt eggs that Derek had thrown away. An egg carton, with most of the dozen missing from sight, was opened on the counter, along with a half-used stick of softened butter. Used paper towels littered the countertop, along with a couple of dropped eggs.

The sight before me nearly dissolved me into a fit of giggles. I forced my hand to my lips, trying desperately to stifle the laughter, but just the slightest bit of movement forced Derek's shoulders to stiffen. Reluctantly he turned to face me, spatula still in hand but an awkward, slightly embarrassed smile spread across his face.

"I was, uh, trying to cook breakfast," he said uncomfortably, stretching a hand to the back of his neck to rub it embarrassedly. "I guess cooking isn't exactly one of my strengths."

Pressing my lips together tightly to hide my amused smile, I stepped forward and peeked into the pan. The few scrambled eggs that he'd been cooking, while hardly perfect, were still edible, and actually smelled rather decent. "These look fine," I told him warmly, allowing my smile to slip onto my face.

Derek cocked an eyebrow, glancing into the pan as well with a discouraged look still spread on his face.

"I'm serious," I added, catching his expression and shyly reaching out to squeeze his hand kindly. "They look absolutely fine."

After collecting some plates and Derek managed to successfully toast the bread, we both settled down at the antique, wooden breakfast table that was bathed in sunlight with our plates and silently ate. The eggs, while cooked well enough, desperately needed salt and pepper, but I kept my thoughts to myself—Derek, after all, had gone to all this trouble to cook breakfast for me. I honestly couldn't think of any other time when anyone I'd ever known had gone to that much trouble just for me. The least I could do was keep my picky eating habits to myself.

"I talked to Stiles," I said abruptly, breaking the silence and forcing Derek's eyes to settle onto me. Meeting his gaze, I added, "He and Scott thought you were dead, when the Alpha attacked you. That's why they—or, according to Stiles, just Scott—told the police that it was you who attacked the school. That doesn't make it right, of course," I added hastily as he opened his mouth to interject. "I made sure to tell Stiles that my—"

"I know," interrupted Derek, taking a particularly large bite of his toast just as I blinked up at him, surprised by his simple utterance. After swallowing his bite, he explained, a smirk creeping at the corners of his mouth, "I heard you upstairs. Even if I wasn't a werewolf, I could've heard you yelling all the way down the street."

Blushing slightly, I defended, "Well, I wasn't exactly thrilled with either of them. Honestly, I'm not sure if they could've made a stupider decision. I have no idea what we're going to do. Unless Scott changes his statement, which would look extremely suspicious, we've got no other options. You already look like the perfect suspect, with your past, your connections to this town, and having Laura's body at your house. I just…I don't know how—"

"Jane," Derek cut off my ramblings, his quiet interjection of my name instantly forcing me to freeze as I blinked up at him. "Right now, clearing my name isn't my priority. I can deal with that later, after I find out who the Alpha is and I kill him."

Hearing Derek's harsh words about murder nearly caused me to wince, but I held in the urge and continued to determinably hold his gaze. "And…how do you plan to do that? Do you have any leads?" I asked him.

After a few more chews, Derek replied, "For now, I'm just going to lay low, until the full moon passes at least. On that night, I'll have to go out and keep an eye on Scott. It's only his second full moon, so he'll be a danger to everyone, including himself."

"What happens on the full moon?" I asked him curiously, trying to think back to all of our conversations and remember anything that he might have mentioned about those fateful nights. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind, forcing me to continue to gaze at Derek and patiently wait for his response.

"It's as if a…chemical or…or a hormone is unleashed within all of us on the full moon," replied Derek thoughtfully, his eyes slipping from my face as a haze slipped over his distant face. "You lose control of your human side, your emotions, everything that keeps you…normal, I suppose. The part of you that is the werewolf takes over—it controls your instincts, your decisions, your mind. Over time, as you start to lose count of how many full moons you've suffered through, you can begin to control yourself and allow your human side to dictate your decisions, even at your weakest moments. But…the pain never stops. It's always there, creeping underneath the surface…"

Derek's voice trailed, the silence vibrating within my kitchen as I continued to gaze up at his face. I couldn't help but bite my bottom lip as I tried to stop the images of him possibly being in pain rushing through my mind. My shaky breath startling him out of his reverie, he blinked down at me and frowned slightly. Before I could ask him what he was thinking, Derek said, "The Argents…a few days ago, one of them visited me. Sh…They told me that they had nothing to do with Laura's death. That leaves the Alpha as the only possible suspect."

"What?" I gawked, absolutely flabbergasted. Closing my mouth tightly and pursing my lips, I asked, "But…how can you trust them? Couldn't they have possibly been lying?"

"I would've been able to tell," replied Derek. At my disbelieving frown, he continued, "One of the perks of having a heightened sense of hearing includes being able to hear other's heartbeats. If it picks up, it's an instant sign of someone lying. It's like being a human lie detector."

Rolling his words over in my mind as I glanced out the window beside me, I found myself subconsciously looking back over our conversations once more, this time trying to search desperately for any chance that I may have possibly lied about something. Cheeks flushing, I felt my heart starting to beat faster and faster as I hoped that I hadn't done anything foolish in front of him. Returning my gaze to his face, I was startled to find him smirking broadly down at me. "W-what?" I stammered out, blush deepening.

Continuing to smirk, Derek smoothly replied, "I don't even need to be in this room to hear your heartbeat."

Trying desperately to calm myself down, I blew a stray strand of unruly dark hair out of my face and stubbornly said, "Well, my heartbeat wouldn't be so frantic if you didn't make me so nervous sometimes."

In the blink of an eye, Derek's face was inches from mine, his body leaning forward in his chair and nearly stopping my heart from beating completely as I stared breathlessly at his exceptionally handsome face. Praying vainly that he couldn't that he had completely knocked the breath right out of my lungs just by gazing down at me with that intense expression, I silently continued to meet his eyes.

"Am I making you nervous now?" he softly said, his warm breath caressing my cheeks. Smiling slightly now, Derek added, his voice dropping to a low whisper, "You don't even need to say a word. I can hear it so easily now…"

Giving into the temptation that was crawling through my frozen bones, I abruptly pressed my lips to his. My arms wound around his neck just as his lips instantly began to react to mine, his own hand creeping up to the back of my head and pulling me closer to him. Our embrace deepened, his tongue creeping through the crevice between my lips and tickling my own. Before my lungs could burst, I slowly pulled away from him, my eyelids fluttering open and a soft, content smile spreading across my face.

Instead of returning my smile, Derek frowned slightly at me, his shoulders stiffening under my gentle touch. Returning his frown, I asked, confused, "What's wrong, Derek?"

Hesitating, it took him a moment before replying, "I'm just…I'm not sure if this is right. Jane, you could be putting yourself into serious danger being involved with me. I don't want to be the reason that anything happens to you—"

I gently pressed my fingertips to his lips, silencing him from saying anything further. Sighing softly, I told him, "Derek…before I came to Beacon Hills, when I lived in Maine with my father, my life was exceptionally dull. I was frightened of my own shadow, always taking precautions and never taking a risk on anyone or anything. My number one priority was staying safe and taking care of my father. But now…after all the death and the loss that I've witnessed, I know that living like that is hardly living at all. Life is too short to always be hiding away in the shadows and avoiding everyone, in fear of what might or could happen."

Returning my gaze to his face and allowing a soft smile to creep onto my face, I continued, "I want to take this chance to finally start living my life, Derek. I want to take this chance on you, on this life. If I don't…I will regret that decision for the rest of my life, I just know I will. I can't just walk away from you, not now, and I'm not going to allow you to force me to do just that."

Derek, despite my words, continued to hesitate before reaching out and lightly, with the touch of a feather, brushed his fingertips across my cheek. "I don't want to see you hurt, Jane," he muttered softly.

Refusing to allow my eyelids to slip closed, I reached up and encased his much larger fingers in my own, squeezing them gently as I confidently told him, "You won't. Derek, you have nothing to worry about. Everything will be absolutely fine, you'll see."

* * *

**And that is the end of this chapter. I know it probably didn't seem like all that much happened, but I really needed this to move my plot along. Much more will happen in the upcoming chapters, I promise—this is just one of those moments that I absolutely had to have in my story. Well, thank you all for reading so much, and please don't forget to leave a review behind. Hope you all enjoyed!**


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Thank you all so much for the love I've received since the last chapter. Keep it up! (: I just want to warn you there are some slightly violent themes in this chapter. So, be warned. Well, I won't bother you all too much—without further ado, here is the next installment of "Home":**

**Favorite Line:**

"_Well, next time give me a call before you sneak into my bedroom. Maybe then I won't have the urge to throw my Latin textbook at your thick skull."_

* * *

"Jane. Jane, wake up."

Derek's hushed voice invaded my slumber, fuzzy dreams halting as my eyelids fluttered open. Darkness flooded my vision, forcing me to, as my heart thudded nervously against my ribcage, squint through the heavy obscurity for a moment to realize that I was curled up on the living room couch, feet tucked under my bottom and left cheek rubbing against the scratchy material of the armrest. My limbs felt light and warm, as if I'd been sleeping for hours on end, and, judging from the frizz brushing across my skin, my hair could desperately meet a brush sometime soon.

Just as my breath hitched up in my throat as the thick darkness began to swirl around me, the lamp beside me switched on, drowning me in fluorescent light and bluntly reminding me that Derek's handsome face was only centimeters from mine as his fingers released the lamp and returned back to his side. Forest green eyes slid onto mine, and he instantly froze, his warm breath tickling the tip of my nose. Biting my bottom lip and forcing my inner desire to press my parted lips to his, I nearly whispered as he put a few more inches between us and returned to his side of the couch, "Are you leaving?"

From the moonlight dipping through the curtains behind my head, I'd guess it was far later than midnight, the time that we had agreed that Derek would slip into the night and seek shelter at Stiles' house for the time being. Before I could even question him as to why he had waited so long to leave, Derek nodded and added a tad uncomfortably, "I…I figured I'd wake you before I left."

"Probably a good idea," I smiled sleepily up at him, trying to imagine how I'd react if I'd woken to an empty house. Shoving the thought away, I fidgeted nervously and tried to imagine what it'd be like to return to having just my grandparents with me in this house. Even though it had only been for a few days, I'd honestly gotten comfortable having Derek stay in my house, as if it was only second nature now. But seeing him leave now…my heart squeezed painfully within my chest, forcing me to cut off my thoughts.

Turning my eyes back to Derek's face, I was startled to find him intensely gazing down at my face. Before I could ask him what he was possibly thinking, he leaned forward and, cupping the back of my head in his warm hand, captured my lips with his. At first, I was unsure how to react, as if my limbs were frozen and needed some time to defrost. But slowly my hands crept up to his chest, gripping tightly at his long-sleeved shirt, muscles rippling underneath my fingertips, and pulling him in closer to me. Reluctantly I forced myself to pull away, lips swelling in the cool air as I turned my eyes back to Derek's face.

"You'll call as soon as you get there, right?" I asked him gently. "Just so…just so I know you get there safely."

"I'll be fine," replied Derek, but, at the sight of my nervous grimace, he reluctantly added, "I'll call. I promise."

My frown now replaced with a relieved smile, I replied quietly, "Thank you."

Derek sighed and reluctantly got to his feet, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the richly deep hard wood floors creaking under his black sneakers. "I should…go, I guess," he muttered, forest green gaze avoiding my eyes.

It took me a couple of moments of watching him uncomfortably stand only a few feet away from me to realize what exactly had was eating away at the man before me. It seemed that Derek Hale may have been handsome, intelligent, and cunning, but apparently he had one certain weakness—goodbyes. As he continued to dodge my curious gaze, I bit back my smile and got to my feet. Instead of following my instincts and pushing myself into his strong, enticing arms, my slender fingertips reached out to brush across the knuckles protruding out of his right hand.

"Be safe," I whispered simply, shyly smiling up at Derek just as his gaze reluctantly met mine.

Derek nodded silently, his lips softly lingering on my right temple just before his warmth was erased from my grip, the front door softly shutting behind him.

Sighing as I stood in the middle of my now empty living room, my legs numbly carried me over to my couch, which I crumbled into. My knees trembled as I lugged my feet up under my bottom, chin resting in my palm as I gazed around the living room. Without Derek there, I found that it was far quieter than I ever remembered. The dim glow from the lamp beside me cast shadows on the walls surrounding me, the silhouettes motionless as I stared blankly them.

I forced myself to shift uncomfortably in my seat, wondering incredulously when I had become so clingy. Sure, it had been nice having Derek in my house for those few days, having someone that was so easy and effortless to talk to, but I was hardly one of those women who pined when being left all on their own. Back in Maine, I'd practically been alone most of my life, what with my father working at all hours of the day and night and my lack of companions in the lonely city of Portland. I'd been fine, of course—it had offered me a chance to stay caught up with my studies and to always have a chance to sit down with a good book. I'd been…just fine, I suppose.

But now, as I cast one last glance around the empty living room, I couldn't help but glance impatiently over at my phone, resting innocently on the glass coffee table across from me. Had I really never noticed how lonely I'd truly been back home, and even now in Beacon Hills? Before I allowed myself to answer that internal question, I exasperatedly rolled my eyes at my edginess and, after rummaging through my backpack nearby, cracked open "Crime and Punishment" and began reading ahead for my AP English class. Unfortunately, just after about fifteen minutes of shallowly delving into the twisted mind of Rodion Raskolnikov, my phone vibrated loudly on the coffee table. In an instant, I dropped my book onto the arm rest and picked it up, giving myself just a second to breath before flipping the phone open.

"Hello?" I asked nervously.

"I'm here," came Derek's low voice. From what I could hear, there weren't any voices or noises on his end. Biting my bottom lip, I silently nodded, momentarily forgetting that he couldn't see me.

Forcing myself to unclench my fists at my side, I sighed softly and said, "That's good. I'll, um, let you go so you can get some rest."

After a moment of short silence, Derek replied, "Alright."

Before I could stop myself or wonder what I was doing, I abruptly blurted out, "Derek, wait."

"Yeah?" came his voice again, this time a tad bit gentler.

Chewing on my lip, I hesitated. What could I possibly have planned to tell him? That I honestly missed having him in my home? That I'd finally realized that my life had been so lonely until he'd come along? That he made my heart race with every little glance or smirk he sent my way? These thoughts still tangled within my mind, I eventually said, "Have a good night."

Once again, Derek allowed a pregnant pause to fill the phone line between us before saying, "You too, Jane."

Then, before I could even consider changing my mind, the phone clicked dead and he was gone.

* * *

As always, the Beacon Hills parking lot was bustling with students and faculty as I pulled into the nearest empty parking spot. Balmy, tingling sunlight fluttered from the high sky above, warming my bare arms as I clambered out from my car. While most of my peers were dressed in sweatshirts and jeans, I could hardly allow this lukewarm weather pass by without wearing a short-sleeved top one last time—hence why my arms were bare and I was allowing my pale skin to soak in the sunshine.

Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I barely noticed as the expensive Porsche pulled into the parking spot next to mine, the passenger side door coming dangerously close to my driver's side door. Glaring from my trunk at the horrible driver, I rolled my eyes to myself as I slammed my trunk closed without sparing a single glance at the whoever the person was who stepped out of the expensive car.

Tucking my cell phone deep into my pocket, I strode through the parking lot, keeping my head down and avoiding catching anyone's glances. To be honest, I hardly had any friends whatsoever in that high school, so I wasn't exactly expecting to strike up any conversations with anyone on my way into the building. From what I could catch during my slow walk, most people were whispering lowly to one another about the attack on the school the week before, and whether the police had managed to catch Derek Hale yet. Judging from the absurd rumors that were already heatedly flitting around—one freshman was fervently telling anyone who would both to listen to her that the dead janitor was actually Derek and there was a whole conspiracy about the attack that I could barely keep up with—the police had absolutely no leads.

Just as I neared the front of the parking lot, I caught sight of the familiar dark blue, compact car being rummaged through by a certain curly-haired brunette. Unfortunately, before I could avert my eyes, Allison detected my gaze and shyly waved me over. Forcing myself to smile warmly, I obediently stepped over to her car and said quietly, "Good morning, Allison."

"I wouldn't exactly call it good, but the same to you," replied Allison with a tired smile spread across her face.

Shifting uncomfortably, I found myself deciding to ask, "Everything alright? I heard that…that you were at the school. I've been meaning to call you, but I had a, uh, family emergency that I had to take care of."

"No, no, it's fine," said Allison, waving my semi-apology away flippantly. "It's honestly been nice not having all of my friends demanding to know what happened. My parents have been asking me all of these questions, and with the police and everyone wanting to know every last detail, it was nice that at least one of my friends didn't make me feel like a freak."

I couldn't even bother to try and stop myself from returning her kind smile. Honestly, what was it with this girl? She just made it seem so damn hard to dislike her. Nonetheless, I told her, "Well, I'm glad I could help. But, really, if you ever need to talk, my door's always open."

"Thanks, Jane," beamed Allison. Her dark chocolate brown eyes glanced over my shoulder and, in the blink of an eye, she ducked hastily down into the backseat of her car, horribly hiding her face from whoever had managed to catch her attention.

Confusedly looking around the parking lot to try and discover what had caused Allison to react so strangely, it barely took me even a second to notice Stiles and Scott walking by, Scott failing just as bad as his girlfriend to avoid looking over in our direction. Forcing myself to stop from smiling in amusement, I turned back to Allison, only to find her gazing after Scott with a distant, pained look stretched across her pretty face.

"Are you guys…alright?" I asked her gently, causing her to meet my gaze and sigh softly.

"No," replied Allison, her shoulders slumping as she leaned against the side of her car and pressed her fingertips tightly to her temples. "I'm not sure what you've heard, but Scott was one of the students who were trapped in the school with me that night. I won't tell you the whole story, but just some of the things he did…well, I just don't think I can trust him like I thought he could. Don't get me wrong, I really do care about Scott, but I just can't be in a relationship with anyone that I can't trust. I'm not sure if that makes any sense, but…"

"No," I stopped Allison's trailing voice, forcing her dark eyes to meet my pale ones. Whatever had happened in that school, no matter whether Scott had been trying to protect her as I truly believed, it wasn't in Allison's best interest to stay in a relationship with someone she could hardly trust. "No, I think it makes perfect sense," I continued. "I'm not sure about exactly what happened that night, but if you can't trust someone, your relationship with them is doomed to fail. No relationship will ever last without trust—it's just common logic."

It took a few moments of Allison's eyes searching mine for her to eventually unleash a warm smile across her face as she abruptly pulled me into her long arms. I froze, unsure exactly of how to react; swallowing nervously, I awkwardly patted her on the back and waited for her to eventually pull out of our embrace. "I'm sorry," she said, tears abruptly budding in her eyes. She hastily wiped them away and added, "It's just…I was afraid that no one would understand what I was saying. Lydia…well, she's a good person, deep down, but sometimes I just feel like she doesn't understand how I think, not like, well, you do."

For the first time since I had learned of Allison's ancestry and her relation to a man who was destined to hunt Derek down, I found myself genuinely smiling at my friend. "It's what friends do," I told her simply, reaching out a hand to squeeze hers gently before returning to my fingers back to my side. Glancing down at the watch tied tightly around my wrist, I sighed softly before saying, "It looks like I have to get to class—maybe we can meet up some time?"

"Yeah, definitely," grinned Allison. Just as I took a step away from her and towards the front doors of the school, she added quickly, "And, Jane—thank you, for everything."

Returning her smile with a nod, I replied, "Any time," before hurrying off to the front doors.

Just as I slipped through the foyer of the school and hastily found my locker, I felt the hair at the back of my neck prickling. Frowning, I glanced over my shoulder just as Stiles and Scott sandwiched me in between them, both looking rather wide-eyed. "Good morning," I said rather coolly—I had hardly forgotten the fact that, thanks to my idiot cousin and his friend, Derek was forced to stay in hiding for the time being.

"Hey," said Stiles, completely ignorant to my tone as a frown flitted to his face. "Just so you know, your boyfriend's a pain in my ass."

Pursing my lips, I raised my eyebrows at him and forced myself to reply without allowing my temper to creep into my voice, "And why's that?"

"He comes into my room in the middle night and scared the living hell out of me," my cousin replied irritably. "And, just in case you didn't notice, his people skills absolutely suck. All he does is scowl and skulk around—not exactly a winning house guest. I just hope you know that you owe me big time."

"Well," I said, slamming my locker shut and bundling my textbooks into my arms as I faced Stiles and Scott fully, "seeing as how Derek doesn't exactly have the liberty of going out in daylight thanks to you two idiots, I'd say we're already even."

"I thought you were over that!" gawked Stiles furiously.

"Over making Derek a wanted criminal in three counties and counting now?" I replied incredulously. "That'll take more than a few days, Stiles."

Just as I was about to storm off to my class before I said something I would regret, I found myself glancing at Scott's face, and instantly froze. His eyes, normally filled with emotions I could read like a children's book, were blank, as if they had been burned out. Frowning to myself, I wasn't sure which issue had caused such a transition—his break-up with Allison or the fact that it was the full moon that night.

Forcing my voice to soften, I asked the young werewolf gently, "How are you feeling, Scott?"

Scott's broad shoulders slumped up and down, just as his girlfriend's had done moments before when I'd asked a similar question. It took all of my strength to bite back my mildly amused smile just as he sullenly replied, "Been better, I guess." Just as I expected him to shut me off completely, a pained sigh filled the tension between us as Scott mumbled, perhaps to himself instead of me, "I just wish Allison would give me another chance."

Frowning, I glanced between Scott, whose gaze had slipped down to the white tile floor, and Stiles, who simply shook his head, warning me to let it go. Swallowing my concern, I reluctantly nodded and told them both, "Well, if anything comes up, just call me, alright? What with tonight being…tonight, you might need the help."

* * *

That night, I hadn't exactly been sure of what to expect. Perhaps, deep within my mind, I'd been positive that I would receive a phone call from Stiles or maybe even Derek, claiming that something disastrous had come up and they needed something, anything from me. After all, it was the full moon, and with the Alpha continuing to roam around Beacon Hills murdering seemingly at random—two more bodies had been found deep within the forest, one mutilated and the other burned alive—it had to have been an eventful night.

Instead, my phone was silent throughout the night. As I finished cleaning up the dishes after dinner, it remained motionless. As I eventually finished reading "Crime and Punishment" and wrote my introduction for my Latin translation, there wasn't a peep coming from my phone. Even as I eventually caved in and, after wrapping myself in my pale yellow quilt, began to read "Vanity Fair" for the fifth time, my phone was so noiseless that I nearly lost it within my sheets as I shifted positions.

Finally, dejected and sure that I would have to wait until morning to find out what had exactly happened that night of the full moon, I marked my spot in my yellowed book with a square of blank paper, switched off my lamp, and rested my weary head on my pillow, willing myself to eventually fall asleep. The shadows cast across the walls from my nightlight flickered as my eyelids slowly began to flutter closed. Just as my mind began to drift away into swirls of soft, billowy clouds and the occasional flash of forest green eyes flooding my senses, a quiet creaking within my bedroom ripped me away from my sleep and forced me to open my eyes.

Holding in my breath as the creaking abruptly halted, I strained to compel my heart to stop hammering against my rib cage but, unfortunately, it seemed my body had a different agenda in mind. Fingers twitching nervously as I gripped my quilt, I glanced around without moving an inch, hoping to find a weapon, anything to defend myself. Unfortunately, all that was within reach was my lamp and my Latin textbook, which were both resting on my side table. Figuring it would be difficult to wield a plugged-in lamp, I stretched my fingers to silently grip my heavy textbook.

From the shadow cast across the wall before me, the person was just creeping through my window and was about to stand fully on their two feet. I waited patiently for them to get their bearings before allowing my body to slowly unwind. Closing my eyes for just a moment and praying that this would actually work, I flew from my bed, launching the textbook at the shadowy figure once my body sat up, and struggling to escape from my tangled sheets. Just as I was finally able to stand on the balls of my feet and made a hurried step to my bedroom door, a strong pair of arms wrapped tightly around my torso, one large hand clamped over my mouth, and a wonderfully familiar voice hissed, "Quiet!"

At the sound of Derek's voice, my body instantly stopped struggling and relaxed in his arms. We waited for just a moment, his hand still pressed firmly against my mouth, until whatever Derek had been waiting for passed and his fingers slipped from my lips and his arms loosened from around me, although they never disappeared. His hands, not ungentle, spun me around to face him, his narrowed forest green eyes glaring down at me as he snapped in a hushed voice, "What are you doing?!"

Jaw clenched in frustration, I stubbornly replied, "I thought you were some stranger trying to break into my bedroom! Would you rather I just lay there and wait for you let me know that it was just you?"

"I'd rather you not throw heavy things at my head," Derek retorted shortly.

Struggling horribly to not smirk at my good aim, I said coolly, "Well, next time give me a call before you sneak into my bedroom. Maybe then I won't have the urge to throw my Latin textbook at your thick skull."

Derek gazed down at me incredulously, his jaw twitching ever so slightly in dim glow from my nightlight. Abruptly I caught his harsh frown lessening with each moment that past, his battle to stop himself from actually smiling forcing me to press my lips together and stifle my laughter. Once that ridiculously handsome grin slipped onto his face, my instincts took over as I stood on to tiptoes and kissed him gently.

Eventually pulling away after our short embrace, Derek leaned his forehead against mine and sighed quietly.

Closing my eyes and allowing every muscle within my body to unwind, I found myself realizing how much, in one day, I had truly found myself missing him. I missed his touch, his intense gaze, his voice. A light sense of self-loathing flooded underneath my skin as I wondered when I had truly become such a clingy person—barely a day had gone by and I'd already found myself wondering about him. It was a frightening thought, one that forced me to pull away from Derek's embrace and ask him, "What are you doing here, Derek? Shouldn't you be at Stiles'?"

Derek frowned down at me for just a moment before taking a step away from me, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was keeping an eye on Scott," he eventually replied. "He's at his house now, resting—he's fine," Derek hastily added at my concerned expression. "He's had a rough night, but he'll be fine by tomorrow morning. I figured, since I was in the neighborhood, I'd check up on you—and put off being stuck at your cousin's for another night."

Biting back my curiosity of what had happened with Scott, I asked, "And you? Are…are you alright?"

All I received in response was a shrug and a quiet, "I'm fine."

Before I could push Derek on this, he stepped fully away from me and shuffled towards my bookcase, eyeing one of my framed pictures curiously. Glancing over his shoulder, I found myself flushing as I recognized my grinning face next to my father's matching expression as we both sat on a ski lift, our skis tangled with one another's. Memories of slipping into soft snow and hearing my father's amused laughter at my clumsiness came rushing back to me just as Derek plucked the picture frame off of the shelf and smirked down at it. "Is this…your father?" he asked me, glancing back at me and gesturing at the photograph.

Nodding, I neared him, smiling wistfully down at the picture frame. "That was at Sunday River—it's a ski resort up in Maine," I added at his confused expression. "My dad decided to surprise me on my birthday with a trip there for the entire weekend. Of course, he happened to forget that I was a rather horrible skier, so we spent most of the trip drinking hot chocolate and watching hockey in our hotel room." Smiling at the memory, I nearly missed the frown that was planted on Derek's handsome face. "What?" I asked him, puzzled.

"Where is he now? Your father, I mean," said Derek.

Shifting uncomfortably as I realized we'd never really had this conversation, I softly replied, "He passed away last year." Unwilling to witness his expression, I turned away from Derek and sat on my bed, pulling my knees up to my chest and avoiding his gaze. Invisible fingers gripped at my throat, unwilling to speak any longer.

His voice was just as quiet as mine when he asked, "What happened?"

At the sound of Derek's voice, the fingers loosened slightly, abruptly allowing me to breathe and speak. Sighing, it took a moment of frowning down at my cold, bare feet before I quietly replied, "My dad was a police detective in Portland; his job specialized in abuse and rape cases. Ever since my mother passed away—she died just after I was born from complications with my birth—my dad would throw himself into his work, sometimes letting days go by before he would return home from work. He was the best at his job, and he'd always managed to avoid having too many issues while on the job.

"That is, until this serial rapist popped up in Portland. Even from the beginning, it was obvious he was nothing like my father had ever faced before. He left absolutely no evidence behind—no fingerprints, no DNA, no trace other than the stabbed bodies of the women he'd mutilated. He started sending letters to the police, taunting them about how they would never be able to find him. My dad threw himself into this case, shutting himself in his office for days on end with nothing but his files and the letters the man sent him. It was only after he asked for the help of an FBI agent who had been working on another case at the time in Portland that he managed to make some headway on the case. He was this close to making a break on the case, even though no one else had any idea what it was. One night, I was at the grocery store picking up some things and came home."

I forced my eyes to close, transporting myself back to that late night and imaging the pitch darkness that had greeted me when I'd opened my front door. It had swirled all around me, gripping at my clothes as I'd uneasily stepped inside. The smell of copper hung heavily in the air, although I'd hardly been able to recognize it as I called out to my father, hoping he'd hurry up and respond. When nothing was returned to me but silence, I'd frowned, remembering how my father's unmarked police car had been in the driveway when I'd pulled into our garage. Mutely my feet had carried me into our living room, where something out of my worst nightmares was what welcomed me.

Eyes still closed and nausea beginning to roll over me, I continued in a whisper, "He'd been stabbed so many times in the chest that his flesh looked like ground meat. His blood stained our carpet—I can still remember trying to scrub it, but it just wouldn't come out. It wouldn't…I just couldn't…"

A hand abruptly clutched my shoulder, forcing my eyes to open and the tears I'd been biting back to slip down my cheeks. I blinked up at Derek, startled by his intense gaze studying my face so closely that I was sure he could see right through me. "Jane…" he tried to say, but no words came. "I understand," he eventually finished.

And that, with all the words that had been offered to me at my father's funeral, from the grief counselors that had struggled to get through my walls, was the first time I truly believed anyone when they'd offered their support. Derek, of all people, could absolutely understand what I was coming from—his entire family had been ravaged by a fire when he'd been my age, ripped from his life just as violently as my father was. If there was anyone would who could comprehend what was rushing through my mind, I knew for a fact that it was the man sitting before me, caressing my tears away.

"I know," I whispered him, smiling weakly through my tears up at him. Taking in a shuddering breath, I forced myself to say, "The medical examiner found that the stab marks were the same size as the rape victims from the serial rapist that my dad was tracking. That, and the last letter he sent to the press, was enough proof to blame him for my father's death."

"What did it say?"

"W-what?" I asked, startled.

"What did the letter say?" elaborated Derek, frowning down at me now.

Swallowing at my slip, I forced myself to reluctantly reply, "He admitted to killing my father, saying…saying he was getting too close to ending their little game. There was also a threat against…" Biting my lip and dreading my next words, I shakily finished softly, "against me. He warned them that I would be his next target."

Derek continued to gaze down at me stoically, a slight frown playing on his lips as he concluded, "That's why you came here—because you were going to be next."

Swallowing, I wordlessly nodded. It had been the first time in months I'd ever told the entire story aloud, although I'd never imagined in a thousand years that I would be telling it to the man sitting before me now. My gaze slipped from his face, falling back onto my pale yellow quilt and avoiding whatever was running through Derek's mind at that very moment. For a moment, I was positive that he was going to leave, that he would realize I had far more baggage than he'd realized and he had enough on his plate to deal with.

Derek's fingers suddenly wrapped around the back of my head, forcing me to turn my cerulean blue eyes up to his face just as he quietly said, "No one's going to hurt you, Jane. Not this psychopath, not the Alpha, not the Argents. None of them will ever touch you, not if I have anything to say about it."

A watery smile slipped onto my face as I let out the soft breath I'd been holding in. My fingers reached up to clutch tightly at his wrist as I replied quietly, "I believe you."

* * *

**And that is the end of this chapter. I know, a lot happened in this chapter, but you finally learned about what happened to Jane's father and why she came to Beacon Hills. To be honest, this way probably the one chapter I've enjoyed writing the most. I hope you all enjoyed it, and please don't forget to leave a review! Thank you for reading!**


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**I know it's only been a day since I posted the last chapter, but I've just been so preoccupied with this story that I can't step away from my laptop, haha. Of course, I'm sure most of you won't complain too much. (: As always, thank you all so much for the lovely reviews that you left behind, and please keep them coming! Without further ado, here is the next installment of "Home":**

**Favorite Line:**

_"You're always welcome in my bed."_

* * *

Although I'd somehow managed to kiss two boys in my adolescence before I'd arrived in Beacon Hills late that summer, I would hardly describe myself as "experienced" in the romantic department of life. Due to my antisocial tendencies and countless awkward moments, it was more than difficult to find anyone in Portland who was interested in me, forcing me to take comfort in my constant quality time spent with myself. There were no dates, no romantic rendezvous, and especially no boys sneaking into my room late at night, only to fall asleep in my bed with me. So, needless to say, I had spent many years waking up alone—never, ever had I woken to find what I did that next morning.

During the night, my legs, whether they were bare or wrapped in flannel, would stretch out and tangle up in my sheets, forcing me to take quite a few minutes in the early morning to blearily struggle out of my constraints. When I awoke that morning, however, my legs were not wrapped around my cold sheets, but were pressed up against something scratchy and warm. Frowning with my eyes still closed, I shifted against the rough material, trying to figure out what on Earth had crawled into my bed. Pressure weighed down on top of my shoulders, pushing me deep into my mattress as I lay on my side.

Forcing myself to reluctantly open my eyes, my body, instantly froze as I realized I was not alone. My shocked stare collided with the bare arm wrapped tightly around my shoulders, tufts of black hair sprouting along the rugged muscles that slinked up all along the owner's shoulder. My eyes trailed along the shoulder and up to the remarkably handsome face of Derek Hale, his eyes closed and his face stoic as he slept on his back, my body curled into his. As soon as I caught sight of his familiar features, my shoulders instantly relaxed and I let out the soft breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding in.

As I thoughtfully chewed my bottom lip, the memories of the night before slowly began to creep back into my mind. Dread filled my stomach was I recalled relinquishing my hidden secret to the man lying next to me, with barely no prodding at all. With grief counselors and my own family members, I had completely shut down, unwilling to speak about the manner I had stumbled onto my father's body. And yet, with this sullen man who could transform into a monstrous creature at will, I'd opened up faster than I'd ever had before. The bizarre quirks of life continued to amaze me.

Sighing softly to myself and vaguely remembering inviting Derek into my bed—to sleep and nothing else, of course—instead of crashing on the floor, I couldn't help but peek at the bare skin that my slipping, pale yellow quilt had exposed during the dark of the night. While he was still wearing his jeans, his long-sleeved, gray shirt was balled up on my bedside table, his bare chest drenched in the sunshine that streamed through my window. Derek's skin, pale and chiseled like pure marble, begged for me to brush my fingertips against it, but I forced my fingers to clench into tight fists, concerned that Derek may awake at the slightest touch. Sure, I had seen muscled men on television and on the covers of the occasional book, but none of them came close to the perfection that lay before me.

My blatant stare travelled up from Derek's chest to his handsome face, pausing briefly on the dark stubble prickling at his iron-like jaw before sweeping up to his closed eyes, long, dark eyelashes brushing against his cheekbones. It was just as I was wondering how those forest green eyes managed to make my knees weak with just a single glance that I caught the slight smirk forming on Derek's lips, the corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly and forcing a flush to creep up my neck to my own cheeks.

"Just so you know," said Derek abruptly with his eyes remaining closed, causing me to jump at the sudden sound of his voice in my once-silent bedroom, "if you want to keep staring at me with your heart beating like that, I can stay here all day."

A scoff ripped from the back of my throat as I rolled my eyes, blush still prickling underneath my skin as I lightly shoved him in his side, hoping to cause him to budge even a centimeter. Derek made no sound of discontent, instead chuckling as his eyes opened and he turned towards me, arm still tightly encircling me. Shoving back the urge to roll my eyes at his growing smirk, I frowned up at him, "How long have you been awake?"

Derek shrugged nonchalantly before replying, "A little while after you stopped talking in your sleep."

"W-what?!" I stammered out defensively in a hushed voice. "I don't talk in my sleep!"

"I'm fairly certain you do," said Derek, smirk only developing into a blinding grin that momentarily left me speechless. As I stared dumbfounded up at him, he continued, "It definitely offered some entertainment for when I woke up in the middle of the night to your muttering."

"What…what exactly did I say?" I asked him nervously, hurriedly racing through my fading dreams as I desperately tried to recall what had occurred in the deep recesses of my mind the night before.

"Most of it I couldn't really understand," he replied. "You muttered everything, for the most part. The only word that I did manage to occasionally catch was, well, my name. That, I have to say, was my favorite bit."

Heart still racing, I rolled my eyes again at him, struggling to avoid laughing as I dropped onto my back and leaned my head back onto Derek's surprisingly comfortable forearm that was still tangled underneath me. Sighing softly and allowing my eyelids to slip shut, I eventually broke the companionable silence between the two of us by saying, "Stiles might be wondering where you went."

"Doubt it," scoffed Derek. "If anything, he'll be hoping his dad caught me in the middle of the night and I'm getting ready to be shipped off to the county jail."

"I don't think so," I replied thoughtfully, eyes still closed. "He knows I'd probably kill him if anything happened to you, especially since it was his and Scott's fault in the first place."

"You'd _probably_ kill him?" Derek repeated curiously.

"Well, he is family, after all."

Just as Derek let out a soft chuckle, my alarm started chirping loudly, reminding me harshly that reality was about to shove me out of my warm, comfortable bed. Out of instinct, I practically crawled over Derek and pushed my fingertips into the top of the clock, thankfully silencing it. Just as I went to return to my side of the bed, I found myself turning back to find Derek's face centimeters from mine, my body lying nearly parallel to his. Feeling heat rush all the way down to the tips of my toes, I shyly said, "S-sorry, I didn't mean to—"

Derek leaned forward and pushed his lips up to mine, silencing me as he gently ran his fingers through my tangled, frizzy hair. My timid fingertips brushed against his cheek, stubble prickling at my sensitive skin and producing an impish smile to creep onto my face as I continued to kiss the rugged man lying underneath me. Slowly I pulled myself away, sighing serenely and whispering to him, "Well, good morning to you too."

Derek chuckled as I slid off of him, my trembling legs nearly collapsing underneath me. My usual routine seemed to flutter from my mind, forcing me to gaze around my spinning bedroom and try to remember just what I needed to do to get ready for the day. Feeling Derek's amused gaze following me, I shook the cobwebs from my head and strode towards my closet. Knowing full well that he could hear it from a mile away, I struggled to force my heart to calm down as I slid open my closet door and rifled through my clothes, searching for something, anything to wear. I hurriedly grabbed a pair of soft jeans and reached for a slate gray sweatshirt with the Portland Police Department logo on it, only to have it slip through my fingers and flutter to the floor, right near my bunched-up sleeping bag.

Internally cursing myself, I crawled onto my hands and knees and clutched at the sweatshirt, jostling the sleeping bag in the process. Catching sight of a flash of white tucked loosely under the sleeping bag, a frown sprouted on my face as I stretched out my right arm and just managed to snatch the strange object—which, I discovered as I returned to my arm to my side, was a folded up piece of paper. Unfolding it and smoothing out the creases, I caught my frown deepening as I tried to discover what exactly it was that had been sketched onto the scrap of paper, and how on earth it had crawled into the back of my closet.

Emerging from my closet, I continued to scrutinize the drawing, looking between it and my sleeping bag until realization slowly dawned at me. Turning back to Derek, who watching me with a flash of concern sprinkled throughout his expression, I asked, "Derek, do you know what this is?"

In the blink of an eye, Derek was pushing himself off my bed and striding towards me, his brow furrowed as he caught sight of the sketch. It was in the shape of a contorted oval, with rounded points jutting out at its corners. A crude drawing of a wolf was centered on the oval shape, with a beaming sun glaring down on it. It was something I had never seen before, not in Portland or in Beacon Hills. Judging from Derek's expression, he was sharing the same thoughts. "I have no idea," he replied truthfully, gently plucking the drawing out of my fingers and taking a closer look at it. "Where'd you find this?"

"It was in the back of my closet, near my sleeping bag," I told him steadily. "The same sleeping bag that Laura used when she stayed here before she was killed."

Derek slowly turned his head towards me, his frown deepening with each moment that passed between us. "Did anyone else—"

"No one else has stayed in here," I interrupted him, shaking my head. "Just Laura, and now you." Just as my lips clamped closed, I noticed another batch of writing on the underside of the note. Frowning, I maneuvered Derek's much larger hands to flip the piece of paper over, revealing one word in familiar hand-writing: Harris.

"Harris?" I repeated, exchanging a puzzled glance with Derek. "Do you know anyone by the name of Harris?"

"No," he replied, wrinkles puckering atop his forehead. "Do you?"

"N—" I forced myself to pause, a thoughtful expression creeping onto my face as I blankly gazed at the word. "Well, there is a teacher at school with that name. He teaches the sophomores though; I've never even seen him before, I don't think. What would he have to do with Laura?"

"I don't know," said Derek, folding up the note carefully before sticking it into his jeans pocket. "But I'm going to find out."

* * *

Allowing the hot tap water to scald my hands, I stood for a breathless moment in the girl's bathroom in Beacon Hills High and felt the heat rush through my body and warm my chilled flesh. Reluctantly dishing some cheap soap into my right hand, I scrubbed my skin carefully, allowing the tedious movements to think back to the past few days and wonder how on Earth my life had come to enjoying the veiled mystery of the night over the daytime.

Ever since I had stumbled upon Laura's note in the back of my closet, Derek had spent most of every late afternoon and each night to hunt down whoever this Harris was, as well as research the strange symbol Laura had sketched out. While he had forced me to swear that I wouldn't go with him on these fishing expeditions, I hadn't exactly been sitting on my hands during my free time. Instead, I'd been searching through the genealogy section of the Beacon Hills Library, looking for any hint of what that sketch could possibly relate to. Judging from the shape of it, it appeared to resemble some family crest, although it was one I had never seen before, not that I could remember at least. Unfortunately, both Derek's and my searches had come up short—we were still in the dark on most of the mystery of the bread crumbs Laura had left behind.

Although Derek had kept to his word and was hiding out in the shadows of Stiles' home during the daytime, he had come to make a habit of sneaking into my bedroom in the middle of the night, eventually crawling into my bed. His face only centimeters from mine, I'd count each of his long, dark eyelashes that curved towards his regal cheekbones as we discussed any information he'd found on Harris, and eventually anything else that sprouted to mind. Whenever I'd slyly catch even a hint of a smile sprouting on his handsome face, my stomach would twist into snug knots and I'd wish, for once, that I had a way of capturing that little moment that could melt my insides in a heartbeat.

Although we never actually spooned or cuddled or whatever you want to call it when we both eventually fell asleep, I would always find myself gradually waking up, bathed in sunshine and Derek's burly, bare arm wrapped tightly around me. In those brief instants when I'd somehow manage to wake up before Derek had, I would gaze up at his stoic face, stomach fluttering with colorful butterflies, and wonder how on Earth I had gotten lucky enough to have someone as wonderful as him lying in bed next to me. Sure, Derek had his flaws like everyone else, like his temper and his impatience, but I'd seen those tiny glimpses of the good man wrapped within his rigid exterior. Even some people were reluctant to catch these hints, I refused to ignore them.

Just as I finished drying my hands with a rough, brown paper towel, the door to the girls' bathroom burst open, a weeping Allison hastily stumbling into the room with her wrist pressed up to her wet cheeks. She instantly froze when she caught me standing there in front of the sink, wide-eyed.

"Allison?" I asked her gently, feet still glued to the linoleum floor. "What's wrong?"

Initially at my words, Allison's shoulders stiffened as she glared at herself in the mirror, unable to meet my eye. Silently I grabbed a dry paper towel from the dispenser and pushed them into her trembling hands. After taking a step away, I continue to watch her, unwilling to leave her while she was so clearly upset. Eventually, after drying her eyes for a few minutes, my brunette friend let out a soft sigh and said, "You're very stubborn, you know that?"

A wry smile crept up to my face as I lightly replied with a shrug, "I've been told that in the past."

Allison chuckled thickly, her cheeks still faintly glistening with tears as she struggled to wipe them away. "It's…I know that this is going to sound pathetic and stupid, but it's just…Scott sent me these pictures of us when we were still together to my phone during class and…it just really bothered me. I swear, it's like he's trying to torture me for breaking up with him."

Frowning, I couldn't help but run Allison's words through my mind a second time. Scott had seemed completely infatuated with Allison whenever I'd brought her up, and he certainly didn't seem like the revenge-type of boy. "Did Scott tell you why he sent you the pictures?" I asked her thoughtfully.

"I didn't really give him a chance to explain," she replied sheepishly. Sighing again, Allison pressed the palm of her hand into her forehead, massaging it lightly as she added, "I know I still care about Scott, but I'm just still not sure if I can trust him. How can I after what happened here last week? I just…I need…Oh, I don't know what I need anymore…"

"You need more time," I told her softly, watching as her hand fell lightly back to her side and her chocolate brown eyes blinked down at me. "You need more time to figure out exactly how you feel about Scott, and whether or not you can find it in yourself to trust him before you start your relationship back up. And it doesn't matter who tells you how long it should take, or whether or not you're taking too long or not taking enough time—just do what you think is best. You should be your number one priority."

Allison sighed and chuckled again, her voice slightly clearer now as her smile seeped into her clear, pale skin. "You must be a relationship genius or something to have this kind of advice."

I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of her comment. "To be honest, I have as little experience as a girl can have," I replied, laugh still clinging to my voice. "But I've read a lot of books on a lot of breakups and relationship issues—you learn a lot from those, contrary to some people's beliefs."

She smiled warmly at me, nodding her head and running her long fingers through her perfectly curled hair. Just as I bent down to slip my heavy backpack onto my back, I caught her gazing at my face with a strange expression bristling on her face. A confused frown sliding onto my lips, I asked her, puzzled, "What is it?"

"Well…," Allison started to say, biting her bottom lip as she was deep in thought. Eventually she continued, "Well, to be honest, you look…different. Like you have this glow about you. You haven't…met anyone, have you?"

Instantly a deep blush rushed to my face, forcing me to blink and ignore the heat that was stinging at my cheeks. "Oh, no, no," I giggled awkwardly, shifting my weight from one foot to another and allowing my hand to creep up and rub the back of my neck nervously. "Nope, I haven't met anyone, I can assure you of that."

Allison frowned, but, after a moment, shrugged and hiked her backpack up higher onto her shoulder. "Oh well. Whatever's making you glow like that must be pretty special—I've honestly never seen you this happy before," she said easily just before slipping out of the bathroom, holding the door open behind her.

* * *

Even as I was driving to Stiles' house later that day, Allison's words continued to pop up within my mind. _"I've honestly never seen you this happy before," _she had said just before leaving me in the bathroom. That couldn't be true, could it? I mean, sure, I hadn't known Allison but for a few months now, but surely I had been happy at some point during our conversations at the familiar lunch table we always sat at, or even during that shopping trip we had taken with Lydia Martin. But…apparently for some reason Allison had chosen today to notice that something had made me happy—even made me glow, in her own words.

As I turned onto Stiles' street, I knew quite easily what could have possibly put that glow onto my face. The emergence of Derek Hale in my life may have been, at some points, stressful, exhausting, and even enough to push me over the edge and make me want to run away screaming. But, as I remembered that first morning when I had caught that hint of a grin on Derek's usually emotionless face, it all seemed so worth it. All the stress and the pain—I would go through it all again in a heartbeat just to have that moment with him.

My fingers began to tremble as that last thought floated through my mind, forcing me to take in a shuddering breath. I knew what was coming next—what possibility could be forming deep within my heart that I had lost control of in the blink of an eye. All that caution, that restraint that I had kept growing up was whittling away with each passing moment—a few months ago, I would have never, not in a million years, given a man as dangerous as Derek a second thought. Instead, I would've stayed hidden in my cocoon of safety and moved along in my life. But here I had done the exact opposite—I had done something that would have made my former self cringe in shame and whisper about how silly and naïve I had been.

Once I pulled into Stiles' driveway, I was forced to wipe these thoughts from my mind and, after calming my racing heartbeat, step onto the pavement. In a few strides, I had reached my cousin's front door; I had been fully expecting to have to search under the welcome mat to find the spare key, since the door would surely be locked. Just as my eyes caught sight of the familiar mat, the front door was thrust open, revealing a boy a year or two younger than me, dressed in a red Beacon Hills Lacrosse sweatshirt.

The boy, although certainly younger than myself, stood quite a few inches taller than me, natural tan stretching across his tan and ringing around his deep, coffee brown eyes. His broad shoulders and lean muscles suggested that he didn't just wear that lacrosse sweatshirt for no reason and, as I caught myself peeking up at his familiar face, I struggled to come up with his name, despite the fact that he was obviously a teammate of Stiles'.

"Sorry," I said, stepping out of his way so that he could creep through the threshold.

"It's no problem," the boy said casually. Just as he cleared out of the doorway, he peeked back at me and hesitated before asking, "Hey, you're Stiles' cousin, right?"

"Uh, yeah," I replied uncertainly.

"So, that makes you Miguel's sister, right?" the boy continued.

Before I could question who on Earth Miguel was, since I had certainly never met anyone in _my_ family who went by that name, the boy's cell phone rang loudly, forcing him to pull it out of his jeans pocket and glance at his half-heartedly. "Sorry, I have to take this," he said, smiling sheepishly at me. "I'll see you around school?"

"Uh, sure," I said just as he strode down the driveway, cell phone sticking to his ear.

Forcing myself to blink away my absolute confusion, I shook the cobwebs from my head and stepped into Stiles' house, closing and locking the front door behind me. Casting a wary glance around the empty living room, I called out nervously, "Stiles?"

"Up here!" came my cousin's voice, drifting down from the second floor above my head.

Letting out a relieved sigh, I ascended the nearby staircase and peeked around the corner, hoping to somehow find some sort of explanation for the strange conversation I had been forced to endure. Finding the light creeping out from Stiles' bedroom doorway, I followed the glare and was comforted instantly by the sight of my cousin's familiar, extremely messy bedroom, as well as Derek standing within it. Stiles sat at his computer desk, determinably typing away at his computer at a rapid pace.

"Hey," I said warily, peering at them both as I let my backpack slump heavily onto the carpeted floor. Stiles lazily waved a hand into the air, obviously too entranced with his computer work to at least turn around.

Derek, on the other hand, glanced over at me, his intense gaze searching my face as I took a nervous step towards him. Just as I was about to ask him about the conversation I'd had with the boy downstairs, I caught the vaguely familiar slate gray polo shirt that he was wearing that was far too tight for him. While it certainly accentuated his remarkable muscles, it was hardly a look that I would expect Derek to choose willingly. Frowning as I realized why it looked so familiar, I asked, "Why are you wearing Stiles' shirt?"

"Ask your cousin," replied Derek, shooting the person in question a narrowed, furious glance.

Stiles, for his part, did peek over his shoulder at the sound of his name. Once he caught Derek's glare, however, he hastily returned to his computer screen and said defensively, "The ends always justify the means, Derek. Remember that."

Just as I caught Derek rolling his eyes, a laugh struggled to be stifled behind my pressed lips. Of course, Derek's excellent hearing easily caught on this puff of air as he glared down at me. Biting my lip and continuing to fight to stop smiling, I forced myself to say, "I see that you two are getting along just as well as always. By the way, who's Miguel?"

A series of poorly muffled laughs launched from where Stiles was sitting, while Derek just rolled his eyes once and quietly told me, "You don't want to know."

Nodding and truly believing that that was probably true, I watched Stiles' printer light up briefly before asking Derek, "Did you guys find out anything?"

"The text that Allison received, the one that drew her to the school?" Derek said. "According to Stiles' friend," he shot my cousin one last glare before continuing, "it was sent to her from Scott's mom while she was at work."

"What?" I couldn't help but gawk, completely puzzled beyond belief. "But that makes no sense. I may have only met Mrs. McCall for a few moments, but she hardly seems like the type to align with the Alpha."

"We know," agreed Derek. "Which is why we're going to the hospital tonight to figure it out."

I nodded, glancing around at the shirts that were scattered around all on the floor around me. Judging from the way they had been forcefully thrown from the dresser, I could only assume that Derek was the cause of a few of them. Chewing on the inside of my cheek to stop from chuckling, I told him lightly, "I'm really trying to imagine you wearing any of these shirts. It's definitely not a look I'd suggest for you."

"I'm glad someone finds this so funny," Derek replied, although his face had softened ever so slightly as his forest green eyes studied my face carefully.

"Well, you won't be here forever," I told him gently, squeezing his warm, bare forearm briefly before offering him a hopefully encouraging smile. "And at least you don't have to worry about being here at night—you're always welcome in my bed."

Instantly catching myself, my eyes immediately widened as I struggled to come up for an excuse for why I had used such terrible wording. My cheeks continuing to flame in humiliation, I couldn't help but shove Derek in the side as he smirked at my obvious fumbling. Derek, barely seeming to notice my pathetic shove, simply continued to smirk as he leaned down and abruptly pressed his lips to mine for just barely a moment.

Unfortunately, Stiles had taken that same moment to turn around in his computer chair. Frozen as he gawked in disgust at us both just as Derek pulled away from me, Stiles snapped, "Oh, come on. Could you please wait until I'm at least out of the room before doing that? Or at least wait until I've slit my wrists so I won't have to actually remember what the hell I've just witnessed."

* * *

**And that's how I'll end this chapter. (: I hope you all enjoyed reading this! And I also hope that you all picked up on what I was trying to hint at with Jane's continuous contemplation on her recent development in her relationship with Derek. I was trying to hint at it without saying anything, but hopefully you all picked up on it. Please don't forget to leave a review, and thank you so much for reading!**


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Once again, thank you all so much for your continued interest in this story, and the wonderful reviews you have continued to leave behind. I just have to say that I've been dying to write this chapter for a while, so I really hope you all enjoy it. (: Without further ado, here is the next installment of "Home":**

**Favorite Line**

"_I don't care about you. You mean absolutely nothing to me."_

* * *

A surprising frost had crept into the mid-autumn air in the sleepy town of Beacon Hills, California that night. As soon as I had stepped in the deep, dark outdoors with Stiles and Derek, my chilly fingers were forced into my light jacket's pockets and my shoulders scrunched up to my exposed, tender ears. In the blink of an eye, the bitter chill had settled deep within my fragile bones and forced continuous shudders throughout my body. Silver, wispy clouds coated the murky night sky, shrouding the waxing crescent moon in darkness and allowing Derek to move freely under the public eye without worry of being noticed.

It wasn't until Stiles pulled his Jeep into the Beacon Hills Hospital that I was finally able to stop shivering and allow my limbs to stretch out as I uncurled from the tight ball I had been bunched up into onto of Stiles' cloth seats. The parking lot was surprisingly empty for a hospital, even if we were parked in the isolated Long-Term Care Facility. Along with the fact that Mrs. McCall was currently scheduled to work there for her next few shifts, thanks to Stiles' friend's impressive information systems-hacking skills, the place was also familiar to me as well. This was where I had dropped Laura off that one night I had been forced to act her as mock-chauffeur. It was only after one of my late-night discussions with Derek that I had learned of her connection to the hospital building—their uncle, the only Hale able to survive the fire that had murdered the majority of the Hale family, was currently residing there, his paralyzing burns and injuries forcing him into a wheelchair and a vegetable state.

Despite the desolate parking lot, the lights were all burning brightly within the wide glass windows of the hospital building. I even caught a flicker of a silhouette pacing by one of them for just a brief moment.

As Stiles dug in his pocket for his phone, I couldn't help but quietly tell him, "Stiles, you didn't have to drive us over here. I was perfectly capable driving—"

"And go to the lacrosse game without knowing what happened up here with you?" Stiles cut me off, freezing briefly as his dark brown eyes met mine in the rear view mirror. "I'm not going to just leave you to fend for yourself, since this one," my cousin jerked his head at Derek sitting silently in the passenger seat beside him, "can't exactly be much help. After all, it's just a game."

Chewing the inside of my cheek, I bit back my initial response—that it was just a game that _he _was starting—and nodded curtly at him. Silently I watched as Stiles eventually managed to snag his phone from his jean pocket and hurriedly dialed Scott's number. It barely took a second before Scott answered his phone and they hastily delved into the topic of the symbol they had found. It had seemed, from the investigating Scott and Stiles had done, that the symbol was actually identical to a pendent that Allison had worn around her neck, one that Scott had recognized instantly at the sight of Laura's crude drawing.

"Yeah, I got the picture," Stiles was saying, regarding the photo that Scott had texted him of the necklace he had managed to find. "It looks just like the drawing."

Before Stiles could say another word, Derek grabbed ahold of Stiles' wrist and dragged the phone—along with Stiles entire arm—to his ear, barking into the phone, "Is there anything on the back of it? There's got to be something. An inscription, an opening, something?"

Even over Stiles' audible cries of pain over Derek's iron-like grip on his wrist, I could easily hear Scott's response—there'd been nothing. Derek rolled his eyes in frustration, his grip seeming to tighten around Stiles' wrist. Noticing the bruises already beginning to form on Stiles' skin, I hastily exclaimed, "Derek!" At his confused glance, he noticed my wide-eyed stare at his clutch on Stiles' arm and, in an instant, released it. His mumbled, half-hearted apology went unnoticed as Stiles returned his phone to his ear, massaging his wrist gently with his fingertips.

"Yeah, I know," said Stiles abruptly, his voice softening with subtle disappointment. "Look, if you just…if you see my dad, can you tell him that I'll be there? I'm just running a little late, okay? Alright, thanks."

"Stiles…," I began, hesitating as he forcefully hung up his phone. Biting my bottom lip, I forced myself to gently continue, "Stiles, you're not going to make it."

"I know," replied Stiles reluctantly. His chewed fingernails dug into the jeans, scratching at the rough material impatiently.

"And you didn't tell him about his mom," Derek added.

"Not until we find out the truth," said Stiles resolutely, glancing back at me and turning back to the sign for the hospital sign glaring before us.

"I'm going in," I told him firmly just as he reached out a hand to open his driver's side door.

Before even a second sputtered through the heavy silence in the Jeep, both of my companions turned back to me, the same frowns spread across their exceptionally different faces. "No," said Stiles and Derek in unison.

Pursing my lips in annoyance, I snapped, "Do either of you have a better plan? Should we send in the wanted fugitive or the sheriff's son who just about anyone will easily recognize, especially the mother of said son's best friend? I'm telling you, I'm the best you've got. And it's just the hospital—it's not like I'm trying to break into a prison or anything."

While Stiles' stubborn glare seemed to relent slightly at my reasoning, Derek continued to frown blatantly at my determined stare. "I don't like it. You're going in there completely unprotected and without any idea of what you're walking into. Anything can happen."

"So I'm supposed to sit in the backseat of this Jeep and hide away from something that might or might not be dangerous?" I retorted. "That's not how this works. You have no other options, and we're running out of time. I'm going in there and, unless you want to walk in there and get arrested by the security guard for crimes you never committed, you can't stop me. Stiles, let me out."

My cousin, after a quick glance at Derek's fuming face, relented with a heavy sigh before pushing open his door and scrunching up close to his steering wheel, allowing me to crawl through the crevice between the back of his seat and the doorway and clumsily stumble down to the pavement. Turning back, I was startled to find Derek's face sternly turned away from mine, clearly unhappy with my decision.

"I'll call if anything comes up," I promised them both, holding in the urge to roll my eyes as Derek continued to refuse to meet my gaze. "Don't worry—I'll be fine."

Stubbornly I turned on my heel and strode to the sliding front doors of the Long-Term Care Facility, fingertips lightly digging into my right pocket and fidgeting with the top of my cell phone, trying to calm my nerves. Once I managed to step into the heated foyer of the facility, the all-too familiar settings of a stereotypical hospital forcing painful memories to seize up within my chest. The sterile stench stung at my nose and the blatantly white, bare walls and overly bright fluorescent lights nearly burning my eyes. Forcing myself to swallow the lump forming in my throat, I approached the receptionist's desk, expecting to find someone, anyone that would be willing to help me.

For some reason, the entire desk was empty. "Hello?" I called out nervously, but there was no response. In fact, there were no sounds besides the occasional beep of a life-support machine resounding through the silent foyer; there were no nurses, no patients, no frustrated people checking their watches in the waiting room. My shoes squeaked loudly on the tile floor, reminding me all-too well of the fact that anyone could hear that I had entered the building. It was like a ghost town within the Long-Term Facility, as if it had been completely abandoned for the night.

Forcing myself to fight back my concerned frown, I dug into my pocket and grabbed ahold of my phone. Hastily I dialed Stiles' phone number and in barely a heartbeat my cousin answered, "Yeah?"

"There's no one here," I said slowly, casting a glance around the entire foyer and hoping that perhaps I'd been wrong and some cheery nurse would pop up and ask if I needed.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," I replied, impatience building in my trembling voice, "there's no one here. No nurses, no patients. I can't find anyone here. It's like it's been deserted or something."

The tip of my sneaker tapped onto the sterile tile floor anxiously as Stiles relayed this information to Derek. Halfway through his explanation, I caught the sound of my cousin's yelp and abruptly Derek's firm voice filled my ear. "Don't move. I'm coming in there right now."

"You don't need to," I told him hastily. "Maybe…they just went on break?" Ignoring my weak explanation, I hurriedly added, "What room is your uncle in? Maybe I can check in there for someone."

"Room 113," he replied automatically, "but I don't want you to go anywhere. There's something off about this and I don't want you in there alone. Just wait for me."

"So you can get arrested and everything we've been through will have been for nothing?" I snapped, glancing down at the room numbers as I raced down the hallway, determinably looking for the correct one. As soon as I stopped at the 13th room on the left, I halted and said into the phone as I turned to cross the threshold, "I'm already here—there's probably going to be…"

"What? What is it? Jane?"

My voice trailed off into the heavy silence wafting in the pale building as I blankly stared within the hospital room. A wheelchair was neatly parked by the wall, but that was all that remained of Derek's uncle. The room, just like the entire Long-Term Facility, was completely empty.

Nervously I backed out of the vacant room and wordlessly listened as the phone clicked, the other caller apparently hanging up in the middle of our one-sided conversation. Before I could bother redialing Stiles' number, I just barely glanced to my right and froze on the spot at the sight of the calm, horribly scarred man standing before me, his right shoulder patiently resting on the wall as his arms were crossed over his chest.

The man would have barely reached the average height of the typical American man. He was clad in all black and a leather trench coat that greatly resembled Derek's own leather jacket, differing remarkably from the hospital garb he had been previously dressed in for many, many years. Lean muscles still clung to his black-clad body even though he had supposedly been restricted to a wheelchair for more than six years now. Thick, wavy jet black hair flopped over his forehead and curled at the back of his neck, his face, despite the severe burns stretching across his entire right side, still regal and impressive. Even as he calmly smirked down at me, the resemblance between this man and Derek were extraordinary. As I blankly gazed up into his piercing crystal blue eyes, a vague thought ran through my mind of how elegant features seemed to pulse within the Hale gene pool.

"Hello Jane," smiled Peter Hale, paying no notice to the fact that I was hesitantly stepping away from him. "I've heard quite a bit about you. Although, I must say, I was hardly expecting someone so…plain and ordinary."

"You're…" my feeble voice failed within the back of my throat, forcing me to swallow as I blinked up at Peter. The wheels in my mind churned furiously, realizing that the man before me was no ordinary man at all. Static and power seemed to ripple off of his shoulders, and the confidence with which he held himself nearly slapped me in the face. Only a person with such stature could be the perfect fit for the elusive Alpha, the one Derek had been searching for all along, the one who had ripped Laura in half. "But you…" I tried again, but again my voice came out only in pathetic wisps.

"Is there a problem?" a sickly sweet voice came from behind me, forcing me to whip my neck around, only to find myself face to face with a young, pretty red-headed nurse. Her prominent emerald green eyes were narrowed determinably at my face, her tall, willowy form blocking me purposefully from reaching the front door.

"But…" I stuttered lamely, vaguely remembering Derek's statement about how Mrs. McCall had been the one who had sent out the text to Allison's phone. But perhaps another nurse had hacked Mrs. McCall's account, framing her and throwing off any curious werewolves off the Alpha's path… "It was you," I managed to gasp out in a strangled voice. "You sent out the text, not Mrs. McCall."

"It wasn't meant only for Allison," the nurse frowned disappointedly. "I tried to send one to you, but it seemed that your phone wasn't able to receive the text at the time."

Vaguely recalling how my phone had been nearly dead that night of the attack at the school, I glanced between Peter and the nurse, paling with each second that passed. There was nothing within reach that I could use as a weapon, forcing me to be a sitting duck. Just as I was sure that this would be the end, Derek abruptly appeared in the hallway, his elbow reaching out and smacking the unsuspecting nurse in the face, forcing her to crumble to the ground, unconscious.

Peter, unperturbed by the sudden appearance of his nephew, chastised him, "Now that wasn't very nice. She _is_ my nurse."

Derek, his furious face set in a scowl and his shoulders stiffening at the sight of his standing uncle, snapped, "She's a psychotic bitch helping you kill people." His intense forest green gaze fluttered across my face before he sternly ordered, "Run. Now."

Blinking up at his face, I nervously stepped out of their pathway and hurried down the hallway, but eventually I slowed and forced myself to look back at the similar, stoic men. How could I just leave him there to fight his uncle and run away like a helpless child? Sure, I wasn't going to be of much help, but I couldn't just retreat without a second glance. As soon as I was out of his eyesight, Derek's long fingers clenched into tight fists as Peter quietly said as he strode forward, "Do you really think I killed Laura on purpose? That I'd hurt my own family?"

With a ferocious roar, Derek launched at Peter, both werewolves trapping themselves into a vicious battle. Just as Peter shoved Derek forcefully into the wall, pieces of the stone-like material flung out all around, some even hurling towards me. My legs still frozen to the floor, I was unable to throw my body out of the way, forcing myself to wait until a pair of slender arms to wrap around my middle and drag me away.

"Come on!" snarled Stiles over the venomous growls emitting from the werewolves still battling. "We have to get out of here!"

Just as I was about to snap that I couldn't just leave Derek behind, my clumsy feet stumbled over one of the chunks of drywall and forced me to the ground. My right temple slammed into the tile floor, a strangled cry erupting from me as my eyelids slowly grew heavy—the last sight I caught before surrendering to the darkness was Derek being tossed aside like a ragdoll by Peter, and Stiles hurriedly dragging me away from the chaos.

* * *

Ignoring the searing pain thudding within my right temple, I impatiently paced along the hardwood floors of my bedroom. Practically every minute or two I'd dial Derek's cell phone number, praying that eventually he would answer it and tell me that he was fine, that he was safe, that he was on his way to my house. Unfortunately each and every time I called Derek's cell phone I would receive his standardized answering machine, forcing me to hastily hang up the phone and sigh heavily. Somehow I'd get ahold of Derek Hale, even if it meant sneaking out of my house and hitchhiking to the Long-Term Care Facility and finding out what exactly had happened after Stiles had practically carried me out of the building.

Unfortunately, thanks to my dear, overprotective cousin, my car keys were currently being held hostage at the Stilinski household. Stiles had promised me he would return them, as well as my actual car, by the time the morning came around, but he was determined to keep me imprisoned within my own home. No matter how many times I groggily begged him for my keys, sitting in his beat-up Jeep in my grandparents' driveway, Stiles stubbornly shook his head and ignored each and every one of them.

"I'm keeping you safe!" he eventually snapped as I stormed out of his Jeep, furiously slamming the door behind me. "The least you could do is thank me!"

Sure, Stiles may have thought he was being the reasonable one, but none of that reason or logic mattered to me at that moment, nor at this one. I needed to find out what happened to Derek, whether he was safe or even alive. At that last thought, I swallowed the lump forming in the back of my throat and forced myself to close my eyes, the thudding in my forehead resounding within my entire mind. The side effects of a mild concussion vaguely ran through my head, but I stubbornly ignored them. I'd be able to worry about my head once I found Derek.

Just as I halted my pacing and forced myself to step towards my bedroom door, already planning my pathway to my grandmother's purse in order to temporarily borrow her car keys, a familiar creak emitted from my ancient windows. Breathlessly I spun on my heel just as Derek slowly crawled through my window, his back turned to me as he silently closed the glass with a curt snap.

Not caring if my grandparents heard me—they surely must have taken their medicine and wouldn't be woken by even an earthquake—I raced over to Derek, grabbing ahold of the slippery material of his leather jacket and gasping out, "Are you alright? Are you hurt? I thought something had happened—I tried calling, but you never answered. I thought…I thought…"

Ignoring my practically incoherent ramblings, Derek gently pushed me away from him and put a considerable amount of distance between the two of us. His eyes refused to meet mine, instead staring fixedly at the hard-wood floor spanning out from underneath his black sneakers. "I'm fine," he said coolly, his voice void of any of the subtle emotions that I had come to anticipate and enjoy. His face was spotless, only the slight dusting of pale powder atop his leather-clad shoulders revealing any evidence of his previous fight with Peter.

Blinking and feeling a slight tear of pain at my chest, I forced myself to ignore the hurt resounding through me and demanded, "What happened, Derek? What happened to you? What happened with Peter?"

"After our…disagreement," Derek eventually replied, his forest green eyes casting a long glance around my bedroom and continuing to avoid my gaze, "Peter and I had a long talk and we've worked out an agreement. I've joined his pack—it was the best decision for both of us."

Blanching, I practically sputtered out, "B-but, why?! Why on Earth would _you _want to join _Peter's _pack? Did you happen to forget that he murdered Laura, your own flesh and blood? Why would do agree to that? That's not who you are—"

"You don't know who I am," snapped Derek abruptly, his harsh voice filled the expansive void between us and forcing my voice to die instantly in the back of my throat. Blinking away my hurt, I barely had a chance to take in a breath before he continued coldly, "You barely know me at all, Jane."

"That's not true," I forced myself to respond, hoping my racing heartbeat would affect my voice. Unfortunately, my hopes were crushed with the trembling, pathetic tones of my voice. "Derek, I know you well enough to know that you would never agree to work with Laura's murderer. You were dead-set on killing him. Don't you remember?"

"Just stop it!" Derek snarled furiously at me, taking a threatening step towards me and forcing me to nervously retreat a pace back. "You think you know me?! You know nothing! You're just a naïve little girl who fell for a façade that you were desperate to believe in. You think this, any of this was real? I had absolutely no interest in you—all that mattered to me was finding the Alpha."

Again, an invisible knife tore away at my chest, causing me to audibly gasp out, but I chose to ignore it as I stammered, "I…I don't u-understand…"

"Big surprise," a hard, cruel laugh escaped from Derek as he rolled his eyes at me. "Let me make this simple for you to understand—I don't care about you. You mean absolutely nothing to me. I only used you so that I could get as much information as possible about Laura's work here, since that would help me find the Alpha. I played you, Jane. Don't you get it?"

Breaths barely coming out of me in short, haggard gasps, I tried to stop the tears that were burning in my eyes, to stem the bleeding of my stabbed, mutilated heart. I didn't want to understand it—I didn't want to believe him. It couldn't be true…but the cold, heartless eyes that glared down at me offered no lies, no ticks that I could latch onto. All that Derek offered me was his cruel words and his heart-wrenching truth. "So this…all of this was all an…an act?" I managed to gasp out. "None of this mattered?"

"Not…one….bit," Derek bit out at me, his words so calculated that they were worse than any slap he could throw at my face. "I'm done with you, Jane. I got what I needed—you're of absolutely no use to me anymore."

Without even bothering to give me a chance to respond to me, Derek turned sharply on his heel and strode towards my window. All of my instincts screamed for me to stay put, to remain frozen to the floor as he left me behind, broken and mutilated. But some stupid, naïve part of me shoved me forward and forced me to grab ahold of his leather-clad arm, forcing him to stop.

In an instant, Derek forcefully grabbed ahold of my forearms and shoved me back several strides until my back was pressed up sharply against my wall. His face transformed before my eyes, eyes flashes electric blue as a terrifying werewolf bared down at me, teeth glinting in the moonlight. A ferocious roar ripped from Derek's throat, forcing my body to struggle to retreat from him, my face turning to the side and eyes clamping shut, tears streaming down my placid cheeks.

After the roar subsided to a soft growl, Derek's voice softly emitted one word: "Enough." My eyes still closed, I felt his hands release my arms and, at the loss of support, my shaky legs gave and allowed my body to crumble to the floor, knees bunched up to my chest as horrified sobs raked through my throat.

I never heard Derek escape through my creaky window, nor the sound of his Camaro blaring away down my street. My grandparents never heard a single sound, their medicine-induced sleep shielding them from the horrors that had been unleashed within my bedroom. All that managed to crawl to my ears was the sound of my petrified, pain-filled cries as my mutilated heart shattered right underneath my fingertips.

* * *

**And that is the end of this chapter. I know, I know, very dramatic, which is why I was so excited to write this chapter! Thank you all so much for reading, and please don't forget to leave a review! Hope you all enjoyed! **


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**I'll start this chapter with a huge thanks to all of you who left reviews for me after the last installment of this story. As always, those are what truly push me to keep writing and keep up my muse and interest in this story. Many of you left behind theories about why Derek did what he did, but I'm just going to have to ask you all to remain patient—all will be explained in these next few chapters. (: Also, just as a heads up, there will be a POV change after the first break in this chapter. And, before I forget, I just want to apologize for the strange glitch that the site had, and that none of you could read this the first two times I posted this. Hopefully this time it will work! Well, that should be it—without further ado, here is the next installment of "Home":**

**Favorite Line:**

"_Whoever this Jane Brown is…she must have quite a hold on you if you speak like that about her."_

* * *

"Jane, are you feeling any better?"

"Jane, can I please come in?"

"Jane, Stiles and his little friend are here asking for you. Why don't you to talk to them?"

"Jane, please talk to me. I'm worried about you."

No matter how many times my grandmother would gently knock on my door and allow her soft, sweet voice to filter through the cracks, I barely moved from my bed, my limbs tightly curled up into me and allowing me to completely disappear into my soft, warm mattress. My blankets were bunched all the way up to the tip of my chin, my fingers desperately clutching at the pale yellow quilt so tightly that my knuckles were white. Each time my sensitive ears would catch my grandmother's voice, my feeble voice would softly reply, "Please don't come in, Nana. I don't want to get you sick."

Despite her obvious reservations about whether or not I was being truthful, Nana would just sigh and walk away from my bedroom door, her audible complaints to my grandfather drifting up to my ears. Ignoring the guilt eating away at my stomach, I would just bury my heavy head deeper into my pillow and close my eyes. At least that would help stem the fresh wave of tears that would continuously prick at my tired eyes.

Unfortunately, although I had barely left my bed for the past few days, I had hardly gotten even an hour of sleep since that fateful night. Every time my eyelids would slip closed and my mind would drift away, Derek's cruel, bitter words would creep into my mind and his horrifying, mutated face would swim right before me. Instantly I would jolt awake, humiliated and disappointed tears slipping down my pale cheeks. No matter if the sky was painted with rich midnight blue or light crystal, I would continue to lie in my bed, unwilling to move even an inch. The library had called me quite a few times, concerned with my absences, but I'd simply warned them that I'd come down with a horrible flu and was unable to walk, let alone step into that building. Whether they'd accepted this excuse or not, I was not sure, as I hung up the phone each and every time before I could ever gauge their responses.

Even though it had only been a couple days since Derek had left me crumpled on my own floor, the effects of not moving an inch from my bed were already evident. My hair was crusted with grease, sticking to my cheeks and constantly pricking at my eyes. The sensitive skin of my lips was dry and chapped, despite the fact that my tears were constantly moisturizing them. My legs felt weak, all of my blood settling deep within me and forcing each of my movements to be met with frailty and lethargy. In short, I was a complete and utter mess, and I was completely apathetic to the entire situation.

The hardwood floor of my bedroom were scattered with overturned books that I'd tossed away from me in disgust. Each time I would try to read the coded, twisted words of Jane Austen, the Brontë sisters, Mark Twain, Charles Dickens, or Nathaniel Hawthorne, my right temple would instantly begin to throb, forcing me to fling the books that I had once adored away from me furiously. Not even my favorite pastime could heal my mutilated heart—all that seemed to work was lying on my bed, barely moving an inch and only listening to the sound of my even breathing.

On the third day that has passed, I had been forced to take the day off from school, unwilling to listen to my grandfather's warning through my bedroom door that my grades may suffer if I didn't bother attending class. Since my report card at that point was nearly spotless, I instead blearily told him that I'd be perfectly fine, and I'd definitely go in tomorrow. However, as he sighed and stepped away from my door, just the thought of actually standing on my own two feet was enough to force nausea to roll right through me. Swallowing the bile burning at the back of my throat, I simply closed my eyes and willed myself to listen to my gasps of air.

Whether it was ten o'clock in the morning or three o'clock in the afternoon, I was hardly sure. All that I was certain of was that my bedroom door was abruptly open, allowing a cool gust of air to waft through the doorway as light footsteps barged into my bedroom. My blankets were pillowed over my face, shrouding me in darkness as I croaked, "Nana, please leave. I don't want to—"

"It's not Nana," came the familiar voice of my cousin, his weight forcing the right corner of my bed to sink down. A soft thud dropped onto my bedroom floor, but I ignored it. "Get up, Jane."

Sighs billowing from my cracked lips, I softly replied, "I told you, Stiles. I'm sick. Just leave me alone."

An impatient groan was uttered from Stiles as he firmly replied, "You're a terrible liar-you're not sick. Well, maybe you are in the head, but that's beside the point. Regarding your overall health, you're perfectly fine. Now come on; get up. We have a lot of work to do."

My eyes slipped close, despite my blankets offering me a cocoon of shadows. "Please," I whispered, unsure if he could even hear me. "Just leave me be."

"No," refused Stiles stubbornly, his face no doubt set in that signature Stilinski determined frown. I was quite positive I had used that same expression countless times before. Taking my silence as reluctant compliance, he continued, "Scott told me all about Derek deciding to join Peter's pack. Now, I may not be a skilled detective or anything, but I'm guessing that his decision has something to do with why you're wallowing in your self-pity at this very moment. I have no idea what he did or said to you—"

Tears abruptly brimming in my eyes, I found myself interrupting him with my low voice, "He told me the truth, Stiles. He told me about how he was just using me to find the Alpha. I don't know why he wants to work with Peter, but it doesn't matter. None of it does. I mean nothing to him—he made that perfectly clear."

For a few silent moments, Stiles kept his mouth shut, perhaps thinking over my sudden response. In the heavy stillness, I wiped away my drying tears with the corner of my pale yellow quilt, the scratchy material rubbing my cheeks raw. Wincing at the chapped skin that was stretching across my face, I settled my head deeper into my pillow and sighed softly. Eventually he asked, "He told you that? That you meant nothing to him?"

"Yes," I softly replied. "You were always right, Stiles. I should've listened to you in the first place. It was stupid and…naïve of me to ever think I would mean anything to Derek." Just saying his name caused the scars embedded in my heart to reopen, blood pooling in my ribcage and nearly drowning me completely. Gasping desperately for air, my eyelids fluttered open and I was forced to take in several breaths before I was able to calm myself.

"I don't believe it," Stiles suddenly told me, forcing my breath to stumble deep within my throat. "I don't believe anything he may have said to you, Jane. And you don't believe it either, you can't."

"Why, Stiles? Why shouldn't I? You were the one who said that he was trouble in the first place." My tone was accusatory, but none of that mattered to me. At that point, nothing did.

"Yeah, I did," he admitted reluctantly, shifting uncomfortably on top of my bed. "Just…listen to me. Derek is probably the biggest douche I've ever met. He's surly and bitter and has absolutely no understanding of the meaning of personal space. But…when you were around, he was different. I have no idea why or how, but you did something to him, Jane. I don't care what he might have said to you—you meant something to him."

Listening to Stiles' words, my chest slowly warmed, my fingertips eventually dragging to press against my skin to remind myself that I wasn't numb. Maybe Stiles was right—maybe something had caused Derek to say the cruel claims he had made. But, just as my fingers reached up to push back my blankets, Derek's biting words crawled to my ears: _"I'm done with you, Jane. I got what I needed—you're of absolutely no use to me anymore." _How could I possibly forget his harsh voice and just shove what he'd said to me under the rug? In an instant, the warmth that had spread all the way down to my toes dissipated, and I was left alone in the darkness.

"You didn't hear what he said, Stiles," I eventually told him. "You didn't see his face. He doesn't care about me. He never did, and he never will."

"So that's it?" snapped Stiles, impatience beginning to build in his tone as he was no doubt glaring at my form protruding from my blankets. "You're just going to give up on everything-finding the Alpha, avenging Laura's death? All because Derek was an asshole and dumped you? Instead of proving him wrong, you're just going to lie in bed and wallow in depression?" When I refused to respond to his irritatingly true words, he snapped, "After everything you've been through, Jane, you've always made it out on top. Are you really going to let this be the one thing that breaks you?"

Again, my cracked lips were cemented shut, forcing me to silently listen as Stiles let out a soft sigh, shifting on my bed again and getting to his feet. Abruptly another heavier weight was dropped onto the same corner of my bed, forcing me to shift towards the weight, curiosity overpowering my aversion to my cousin at that very moment. "Well," Stiles said, "if you ever stop feeling sorry for yourself, you can look at this."

Without even bothering to wait for my response, Stiles began to stride towards my bedroom door, his steps causing my hard-wood floor to creak loudly. Abruptly he stopped, and his voice filled my mind as he said, "Just so you know, I overheard Dad saying that he sent that Federal Agent back to the Bureau, along with some complaints about his interrogation tactics. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"I have no idea," I finally was able to whisper.

Stiles said nothing more as he wrenched open my door and eventually left me alone in my bedroom once more. A few more moments after I caught the sound of his footsteps creeping down the staircase, I forced myself to sit up, my frizzy hair annoyingly teasing at my cheeks as my blankets pooled around my waist. Tucking my unruly hair behind my ears, I found myself staring down at a small cardboard box resting innocently on my bed. There wasn't a single label on it, nothing to give me a clue as to why Stiles would bring it to me.

Sighing, I wrenched the box over to me and lifted the top off, revealing a heaping pile of photographs. The corners were bent on most of them and some had even been folded in half, but I could still catch the familiar beaming smile of my mother deflected right up at me. Slowly my right hand reached down into the box and scooped out a handful of the photographs. One by one, as I searched through them all, I found myself gazing down at my parents, my uncle, even a few of my grandparents when they were much younger.

Just as I neared the end of the second handful that I had managed to snag, my fingers froze as I gazed down at the picture I had stumbled upon. The corner was torn, and it must have been folded up more times than I could count. But, no matter how tattered it was, I could easily find y mother and father, barely a few years older than myself, cuddled up on the wooden swing that still hung from my grandparents' front porch, their grins so wide and filled with earnest joy that my heart wrenched at the sight of it. I had no idea how happy they had been together, even when they were my age.

I had never seen them at their happiest moments, I slowly realized as the rest of the photographs flitted from my grip, the single picture remaining clutched in my hand. Sure, my father had loved with me all of his heart when he'd been alive, but I'd never seen him this content and relaxed ever before. It seemed, as it slowly dawned on me, that my mother had been the only person who'd been able to bring that side out of him. And I'd ripped that away from him—with my birth, I had managed to kill the one person who made my father most happy. It didn't matter what I did during my life—my father was doomed from the first day I was born.

Tears burning at the corners of my eyes, I flung the tattered photograph back into the box and forcefully shoved it to the floor. Just as I was about to curl back up into the fetal position atop my bed, I found myself frozen at the sound of two thumps resounded throughout my empty bedroom. Frowning in confusion, I peeked over the side of my bed and caught sight of the black, leather-bound journal that had toppled out of the cardboard box.

The corners of my mouth tugging down, I reached down to the floor and snatched up the journal. There were no inscriptions, nothing that gave away what exactly the book held. The pages were yellowed and reeked of aged ink, the scent that I had fallen for many years ago. My fingertips gently pried the book open, revealing the first page revealing a beautiful cursive writing that read:

_Property of:_

_Laila Stilinski_

Several spaces down from there, I found the same perfect handwriting spelling out:

_To my annoying brother, Jake: _

_If you or that idiot friend of yours read this, I'll kill you both!_

As I continued to read through my mother's journal, I found myself delving into her life, starting with her time as a shy, accident-prone high school sophomore, complaining about her meddlesome, overprotective brother and his best friend who had no issue teasing her to no end, all the way to her graduation from high school, when she was worrying about her uncertain future and her insecurities as the long-term girlfriend of the boy who had terrorized her whole life. With each turn of the page, energy buzzed brightly within my fingertips, the heavy weight lifting from my chest and finally allowing to breath. The weight of my decision to not bathe for the past few days rested greatly on my shoulders. Once I reached the last page, I gently tucked the journal underneath my pillow and got to my feet. Stretching out my tired, unworked limbs, I snuck out of my bedroom and hurried to the bathroom, ready to take a long, hot shower.

* * *

Oh, how Kate Argent despised doing this menial detective work.

Sure, Kate was perfectly aware that it was necessary—how else was she supposed to hunt down the second beta entwined in the mysterious Alpha's pack? She could hardly rely on just her instincts. Instead, she was forced to sift through the endless supply of information that kept slapping her in the face, which was a long, tedious process. Kate was far too impatient for this—she could be doing something far more interesting with her time.

_Like killing something_, she thought with a mild smirk as she strutted down the pathway underneath the burnt remains of the Hale House. Oh, how she loved that adrenaline rush—the rush of power that pulsed through her hands as she held someone's life literally in the palm of her hand. Listening to them scream, beg for their lives, knowing all too well that she could control them, manipulate them to do anything she wanted, as long as it meant she would spare her life. Oh, that was quite a rush indeed—one that could never be replaced, not by sex or drugs. It was killing that was truly the world's best high.

Instead, Kate realized as she sighed disappointedly to herself as she reached the end of the pathway and gazed blankly upon the black, sliding wooden door before her, she was being forced to purposefully keep someone—even worse, _a werewolf_—alive, just so she could squeeze as much information out of them. Sure, seeing the pain flash upon their face would be splendid for just a little while, but it would never last as long as the sweet relief when their life was snuffed out right before her gleaming eyes.

Kate wrenched the sliding wooden door open, revealing the cellar that was hidden deep within the Hale House. She had nearly forgotten about this place—a sweet, overconfident boy had whispered its whereabouts to her one late night while she'd tangled herself into his arms, completely unaware of her plot to destroy his entire world. Kate couldn't help but smirk to herself at the memory, especially along with the fact that that boy had grown into the remarkably handsome, strongly built werewolf that hung, suspended in the air by thick, metal handcuffs, right before her.

"Hello Derek," said Kate brightly as she strode smoothly into the underbelly of the dark, damp cellar. The humidity was forcing her thick, chestnut brown to stick to the back of her neck, but she coolly ignored it, instead focusing on the werewolf stubbornly avoiding her gaze. His sweaty forehead was plastered with his jet black hair, a sheen causing his pale, bare chest to glow in the strobe light directed right at his upper torso. Electric cables were taped to the side of his stomach, transforming him into her little science project for the time being. "Sleep well last night?"

Derek said nothing, but he allowed his forest green gaze to glare darkly at the all-too familiar woman smirking up at him, her rounded hip protruding out with her long fingers calmly resting upon it.

"What's wrong, Derek?" pouted Kate, searching his face curiously. "Not in a chatty mood today? That's not a good sign. After all, we have so much to catch up on. Like, who the Alpha is?"

Again, Kate was met with only silence. Not missing a beat, she continued, "No? Alright. Let's move onto the second Beta. Any idea on who he is?"

When the only sound that was emitted from Derek was his calm breathing, Kate shrugged her shoulders lightly and sighed heavily at him. She walked towards the battery that his electric cables were connected to, her perfectly manicured fingernails tapping on the knob that seemed to pulsate underneath her fingertips. "You know, Derek," said Kate calmly, "this isn't going to get any easier. You better loosen your jaw, or perhaps I'll have to do it for you."

At her last sentence, she allowed her fingers to turn the knob to the right just an inch, allowing the electric current to pulse through the cables and embed themselves into Derek's body. Derek shifted uncomfortably, his knuckles slowly turning white and his jaw clenching at the pain slowly building up within him. Not enjoying the continuing silence, Kate flexed her fingers once more, allowing the current to intensify and nearly grinned at the sound of Derek's audible gasp of pain.

"Now, that's better," smirked Kate, turning the knob back to the left and leaving just enough juice to stop him from transforming. "You see, if you just give me a few answers, I won't have to do that again. I don't like hurting you—well, that may be a bit of a lie. After all, it does please me a little bit to see you squirm."

Kate strode towards Derek, running her clear-coated fingernails lightly over his torso, unable to not admire the rippling muscles that spanned underneath her touch. If only, Kate thought to herself lightly before shifting her gaze to Derek's face, only to find him turning determinably away from her, disgust oozing from him.

"What's wrong, Derek?" Kate crooned sweetly. "You used to love it when I touched you like this. What changed?"

"Maybe it's the fact that you burned my entire family alive," Derek reluctantly bit out, flinching away from her touch and visibly avoiding the fury that was rushing through his veins and begging him to transform.

"Oh, let's not bring that up just yet," said Kate, shaking her head at him. She glanced over at the table holding the battery connected to Derek, and her eyes slowly settled on the black leather jacket stretched out from the night before. "Well, maybe if you don't want to talk, your belongings will do it for you."

Returning her reluctant hand back to her side, Kate stepped over to the table and searched through Derek's pockets. Dropping his cell phone loudly onto the wooden surface, she checked through his wallet curiously. Quite a few twenty dollar bills were tucked into the money compartment, the same ones that Kate snatched up and tucked deep into her pocket. _It's not like he's exactly going to be using it for a while_, Kate thought to herself mildly before continuing to rifle through Derek's wallet.

"Lovely picture," she said sarcastically as she studied his license. As always, Derek's scowling face glared up at her, an expression she had grown quite fond of, in fact. Just as she opened her mouth to comment on just that, she caught sight of a little sliver of paper poking out of a nearly obscure compartment of his wallet. A frown tugging at her perky lips, Kate managed to dig the paper out of the wallet and unfolded it. That frown that was playing on her mouth hastily transformed into a curious, a very curious grin.

"Well, well, well," said Kate, her gleaming smile causing Derek's blood to rush angrily. The piece of paper was clutched between her index and middle fingers, the words already burning into her mind. "What have we here, Derek? Have you moved on from me already? I must say, I'm a little hurt—I always thought I was a little unforgettable."

Derek, for his part, kept his expression impassive as he coolly told her, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think you do," she smirked as she spread the paper out before her eyes and, in a clear, concise voice, read aloud, "Jane Brown. 207-432-5518. Her penmanship could really use some word—I mean, honestly, how am I supposed to read this tiny chicken scratch?"

Kate watched Derek's face, searching for any emotion that could cause her suspicion to increase. His stoic glare continued to pierce her, causing her to doubt whether this person had any special meaning to the handsome werewolf. But then, just as she was sure she had made a mistake, Derek coldly said, his voice barely faltering to the untrained listener, "She means nothing to me."

Bingo.

"Oh, Derek, you silly fool," said Kate, excitement gradually creeping into her steady voice. "How could you think I'd possibly believe you? You may think you have control of your emotions, but it all changes when you open that pretty mouth of yours. Whoever this Jane Brown is…she must have quite a hold on you if you speak like that about her."

Derek said nothing as Kate folded the written phone number into a tight square and tucked it safely into her pocket. Whatever he was thinking, Kate wasn't all that sure—all that mattered at that moment was that she had spotted a clear weakness, one that she could exploit in a second. After all, her father had always warned her that the easiest way to break a person is to start with their weakest spot—their heart.

"Well, Derek," Kate eventually said, offering the werewolf one last brilliant smile, "if I can't loosen your jaw, perhaps this little Miss Brown can help me out. Who knows—she might even be a little bit of fun."

Not even bothering to offer him a chance to respond, Kate's fingers latched onto the battery knob and launched it forward, watching with earnest as Derek's face lit up with agony. His screams filled the humid cellar, warming her bones and nearly causing her toes to curl. Kate gave him a few moments of excruciating pain before turning down the electric current. Just as Derek's eyelids began to slip closed, his body shutting down completely, Kate offered him one last word of advice before he plunged into unconsciousness: "Better rest up, Derek—our special guest should be arriving soon enough."

* * *

**Okay, this was seriously way too much fun to write. Writing through Kate's POV, although she is the one character I hate the most, was actually loads of fun. And I know this is coming out much faster than most of you expected, but I had tons of free time to work on this today, thanks to my work shutting down today, so I figured I'd surprise you all. (: What'd you all think? The tension's getting thick. Please don't forget to leave a review, and I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Thanks for reading!**


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

**I have to say, thank you all so much for the incredible reviews you have left behind. I'm afraid that I've just been exhausted this past week and wasn't able to sit down and truly focus on working on this chapter for a little while. I definitely needed a break, and now I feel much more ready to continue working on this story. So, without further ado, here is the next installment of "Home":**

**Favorite Line:**

"_Unfortunately, I can't say that I'm too surprised—Derek has never been the talkative type, I'm afraid."_

* * *

Even though it had been nearly fourteen minutes since I had managed to pull into my driveway, any desire of crawling out of the driver's seat of my car had been completely drained from me. Stifling hot air was gusting out of the vents, warming my pale skin and nearly whisking me off into a light dozing sleep. My heavy eyelids fluttered closed, soft breaths slipping from in between my lips as my heart dully wrenched, an abrupt agony that had become increasingly familiar to me ever since it had been ripped from my chest.

Ever since Stiles had dropped off my mother's old photographs and her aging journal, I'd finally been able to slip out of my bedroom and return to reality. My responsibilities of school and work had welcomed me back with scornful open arms, reminding that not even heartbreak could stop the world from turning and turning. It had taken quite a few all-nighters and early, sleepy mornings just to tread water with the immense load of homework that had been piled onto me in my absence. No matter how exhausted I felt, I refused to allow myself to fall behind and possibly risk my ability to graduate any longer. It was the least I could do for those people who had made countless sacrifices for me.

In the few free moments I had managed to spare myself, I had tucked myself deep into myself, avoiding contact with just about anyone. The only people I had managed to speak to in those few days were my grandparents, who were just relieved that I had somehow found the strength to leave my bedroom and return to my daily life. Of course, there was the occasional concerned glance thrown in my direction when I was forced to admit that I had absolutely no plans for that night or that weekend, but I suppose nothing could be perfect.

The one person I had found myself wishing to speak to more and more as the slow days crawled on, I hadn't heard a whisper from. True to his word, Derek had avoided making any contact with me since he had left me crumpled, alone and forgotten in my bedroom. Wherever he was, my best guess was that Peter wasn't too far behind. For whatever reason, Derek's uncle seemed to have some sort of hold over him and it would appear that nothing could slink in between them.

My cell phone, buried deep into my jeans pocket, shuddered against me, jolting me out of my doze and forcing me to blink blearily as I dug it out. Frowning at the unfamiliar number, I flipped open the phone and said, "Hello?"

"Jane?" came a familiar voice, forcing my shoulders to instantly stiffen.

"Hey, Scott," I said warily, unsure of why on earth he, Scott McCall, would bother calling me.

"Uh, hope I'm not interrupting you," said Scott, his own voice uneven as he blatantly struggled to come up with the proper wording of why he was speaking with me at that very moment. "Stiles, uh, told me about what happened. I know that he said you weren't exactly up to this, but I'm just not sure who—"

"What do you need, Scott?" I cut off his rambling, my voice waning as exhaustion crept along my mind.

Scott hesitated a minute before responding, "Derek's missing. Something happened at the Hale House last night and the last time I saw him, he was fighting some hunters. I just really need to find him, Jane, and you're the only person I could think of who could help."

Ignoring the wrench of agony twisting within my heart, I forced my eyelids to flutter closed. Derek had been fighting with hunters? Were they Argents? Was he hurt, or was he safe with Peter now? My jumbled, panicked thoughts struggled to coincide with one another, allotting a dull thud to erupt within my right temple. Wincing, I eventually replied quietly, "I haven't seen or heard from him in days, Scott. I have no idea where he is. Wherever he is, he's not with me."

"But…" Scott's voice trailed off, his confusion lingering in the air. "But, where else could he be? If he's not with you, there's no place else I can think of looking."

My throat threatening to constrict, I forced myself to swallow and ask Scott, "Maybe he's with Peter?"

"He has no idea either," he said. "He's looking for Derek too, and I'm guessing his next stop will be wherever he can find you."

"He won't bother."

"But how can—"

"Just before Derek joined Peter's pack, he made it pretty clear that I meant nothing to him. Believe me, Peter knows that Derek won't be anywhere near me. There's nothing to worry about."

"That's not true, Jane. You can't possibly believe that—"

"I'm sorry, Scott," I said abruptly, forcing my eyelids open and frowning at the open, empty space lying before my windshield. "I really have to go."

Without giving him a chance to respond, I hastily flipped my cell phone shut and shoved it back into my jeans pocket. Whatever was going on with Derek, he had made it clear that I had no right to be involved. And, for once, I agreed with him—I had no desire to be involved in this world any longer, to be sucked into the darkness and mystery of the supernatural world. Despite the sliver of my heart that was begging to know if he was alright, I forced myself to crawl out of my car and, backpack slung over my back, walk towards my front door.

As soon as I shoved the front door open and was greeted with the thick, stony silence wafting within my foyer, I knew something was off. Each and every light was switched off, blanketing me in darkness and forcing my fingers to hastily reach across the rough drywall until I managed to grasp a light switch. Once light flooded my senses, I pushed out the breath that I hadn't realized I'd been holding in and glanced around the foyer. Surely my grandparents had to be home—ever since I had arrived in Beacon Hills, my grandparents had always been home to greet me as soon as I returned from school. I hadn't even realized it had become such a staple until then, when the absence was more than glaringly apparent.

"Hello?" I called out nervously, peeking around the corner and half-expecting to find my grandfather curled up in his recliner, his favorite soap opera that he'd never admit to watching flashing right before his guilty face.

Instead of finding my grandfather, I was startled to find the handsome, unscarred face of Peter Hale patiently smiling up at me from my grandmother's love seat. His leather jacket-clad elbow was perched casually on the armrest, his palm tucked neatly under his chin as he glanced calmly up at me, his smile unfazed as he said, "Hello, Jane."

The soles of my sneakers were glued to the carpet, my eyes wide and unblinking as I blatantly stared at Peter, who seemed unabashed by my blatant gawking. Forcing my jaw to clench shut, I eventually demanded, "Where are my grandparents? What have you done with them?"

"Oh, they are quite safe," replied Peter smoothly. "I might have overheard them as they were leaving, saying something about a grocery store or some place along those lines. It seems they are quite concerned with the little depression their only granddaughter has gotten into."

Flushing in embarrassment, I ignored the guilt eating away at my insides for continuing to worry my grandparents over my heartbreak and glared at Peter. "Leave. Now."

Peter, unperturbed by my firm words, simply lounged back in the loveseat and smiled easily up at me. "I don't think I'm quite ready to leave yet, Jane. I have a few questions that need answering, and I'm afraid only you might have the answers I'm looking for."

Scott's warning words lightly resounding throughout my mind, I frowned down at Peter as I truthfully said to him, arms reaching up to cross uncomfortably over my chest, "I don't know where Derek is. Scott already called me about the same thing, and I'll tell you exactly what I told him—I have no idea where he is. I haven't seen him since that night at the hospital."

At first, Peter said nothing, simply appraisingly staring up at me, his crystal blue eyes unblinking as they searched my blank expression. It took me just a moment to realize that he wasn't just taking my words to heart—he was listening to my heartbeat, just as Derek had in the past. Forcing myself to avoid flushing at the thought of that morning that seemed like ages ago, I tightened my hold on my torso and continued to glare stubbornly at Peter, waiting for him to admit that I was telling the truth.

"Well, it is nice to hear that at least one of my Betas have been following my rules," he eventually replied, getting to his feet and smiling tranquilly down at me.

Frowning in confusion, I questioned him, "What are you talking about? What rules?"

Peter cocked an eyebrow before his expression settled into calm apathy once more, a hint of condescension flickering right before my eyes. "I see that my dear nephew decided to keep you out of the loop. Unfortunately, I can't say that I'm too surprised—Derek has never been the talkative type, I'm afraid. But I, on the other hand, have never been the type to leave a lady in distress."

My frown only deepened with the utterance of each of Peter's twisting, riddle-filled words, but I held my tongue as I gazed determinably up at him. Whatever Peter was holding back, it wasn't enough to force me to lash out and demand to know what he was hiding. Instead, I didn't have to wait long as Peter eventually continued, "Whenever a new pack is formed, the first rule for an Alpha is to make sure that his or her Betas are kept focused. A Beta's number one goal in life should be to be part of its pack, to do whatever its Alpha wants. Unfortunately, both Scott and Derek have some…distractions that needed taking care of. Scott, of course, has his friends, including that cumbersome cousin of yours, as well as that one girl…Allison, I believe her name is."

"And what about Derek?" I asked him coolly, unable to stifle the slight bitterness creeping into my voice. "He doesn't have any distractions you need to worry about. The only chance he had of one was Laura, and you already took great care of her."

"Oh, that's not true at all, Jane," replied Peter, shaking his head as if he was chastising a small child. "Why do you think I tried so hard to draw you to the high school that night of the attack? Or perhaps when I nearly had you cornered in the forest all those nights ago? I was trying to take care of the only thing standing in the way of controlling my Beta—you."

In the brief moment that I was able to simply blink my eyes up at Peter, Peter's words rushed through my mind at lightning speed. What on Earth could he have been talking about? Derek had made it perfectly clear that his feelings for me were completely obsolete—surely Peter had been able to see that as well. Forcing myself to let out the gasp of breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding in, I stubbornly told him, "You've been wasting your time, Peter. Derek feels absolutely nothing for me—he's already made that perfectly clear."

"That's only because he was doing exactly as I told him," said Peter. "That night at the hospital, I gave Derek an ultimatum—to either join my pack and continue to hunt down those responsible for the fire that ravaged our family, or to sit by and watch as I split you in half, just as I did to Laura. As you can tell, it was a fairly easy choice for Derek to make—in order to save you, he pushed you away. A bit too clichéd for my taste, but…"

Peter's trailing voice forced my knees to nearly buckle as I silently shook my head, unable to truly believe what he was trying to tell me. Everything that Derek had said that night, his cruel words and harsh truths, had all been a lie? All to save me from this…from this monster who was still standing before me, completely outing his own nephew in the process? Instead of the happiness that I had expected to burn deep within me, anger surged down to my toes as I glared at Peter and demanded suspiciously, "Why are you telling me all of this? What's in it for you?"

The Alpha simply shrugged as he began to stride towards the front door, completely unperturbed by my untrusting glare. "I do have plans set in place for you, Jane. I suppose that, if anything were to happen to Derek or Scott, I would be in desperate need for another Beta. Who better to choose than a young lady with fire, passion, and already an extensive knowledge of our world? And, let's face it—it would be a far easier transition for you if you were able to lose some of that bitterness towards my pack."

Before I could even bother blinking in complete and utter surprise, Peter offered me one last smooth smirk before flitting through the front door and wholly disappearing from my sight. Sighing in absolute frustration, my knees buckled and forced me to stumble into my grandfather's recliner. My heavy, weary head ducked down into my outstretched palms, struggling to comprehend the rush of information that had been lobbed at me. Peter's threat had been blatant, but that wasn't my major priority—only one thought resounded through my mind at that very moment: I had to find Derek, before anything happened to him.

Just as I hurriedly staggered to my feet and dug into my jeans pocket, my cell phone came to life against my fingertips, causing me to nearly jump out of my skin. Frowning at the vibrating phone and foreign phone number clutched in my hand in confusion, I opened the phone and put it to my ear, warily asking in the thick silence, "Hello?"

"Is this Jane Brown?" came a cool, calm female voice.

"Um, yes," I replied, puzzled beyond belief. "May I ask who this is?"

"Oh, I'm sorry! My name is Rachael Adams—I was just driving down Route 5 when I came across your grandparents' car."

"Are they alright?" I instantly demanded, heart jumping into my throat. What if Peter had been lying? What if he had done something horrid with them and it was all my fault?

"Yes, yes, they're absolutely fine," the woman hurriedly replied, obviously catching the desperation edging into my voice. "They've just gotten a flat tire, but it seems neither of them have any cell phones or any way of getting ahold of anyone who can help them. Thank goodness your grandmother was able to remember your cell phone number. Anyway, she was wondering if you could bring your AAA card to them—it seems she's misplaced them."

"Of course, yes," I hastily told her, clumsily retrieving a pen and paper from my backpack and preparing myself to scribble down where exactly they were located. Once Rachael relayed to me the coordinates of exactly where my grandparents had broken down, I nervously asked her, "Is it alright if I speak to my grandmother? I just want to make sure that she's alright."

"I'm afraid she's having a heated discussion with your grandfather right now," replied Rachael reluctantly, awkwardness shifting into her voice as I closed my eyes in annoyance. Of course they would decide to bicker now. "I'll definitely be sure to let them know that you're on your way."

"Thank you so much," I genuinely told her just before hanging up the phone, hurriedly grabbing my keys and rushing out of the house, barely even thinking twice of what I could possibly be running into.

* * *

I gazed around the stretch of forest-infested road that I had managed to stumble upon. Lush, evergreen trees hung over the cracked pavement that was holding up my car, their fallen leaves crunching underneath my tires as they slowly roamed forward. Everything was what I had expected when I'd hastily scribbled down the coordinates Rachael had offered me—Route 5, the peak of a crumbling church just barely reaching the top of the tree line before me. The only problem was that neither my grandparents nor my grandparents' car were anywhere in sight.

Sighing in frustration, I climbed out of my car and glanced around the stretch of road, hoping for some sort of sign as to what the hell was going on. Where were my grandparents? Where was their broken down car? All that met my eyes was forest, forest, and more forest. Surely something couldn't have been right.

I studied the setting sun, pastel colors splashing across the darkening sky as if a painter had given up halfway through creating his masterpiece. Ignoring the shiver climbing up my spine, I cast my gaze down to the shrubs surrounding the stretch of road, shifting uneasily with the occasional gust of nighttime wind. It was as if nature could sense something was off, warning me that my safest bet was to crawl back into my car and drive far, far away without bothering to look back. But the thought of my grandparents' safety kept me glued to the pavement, momentarily unafraid to face my fear of the darkness.

Wondering curiously if perhaps I had mistaken the coordinates I had written down, I wrenched open my driver's side door and bent over my seat, reaching for the flash of white paper that was crumpled into the seam of my passenger seat. Just as my fingertips grasped the lined paper, a loud snap resounded throughout the forest, causing my shoulders to stiffen and my head to whip around, my neck creaking in protest. Before I could even let out a gasp of surprise, a sharp pain hissed through the back of my head as something hard and blunt snapped against my skull and forced me to slump over onto my seat. My heavy eyelids began to slip closed, allowing the fearsome darkness to claim me once more.

* * *

**And that is the end of this chapter. I hope you all enjoyed it! Believe me, the best is coming up in the next few chapters. (: I hope you all enjoyed, and please don't forget to leave a review! Thank you so much for reading!**


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

**I have to say, I truly cannot be happier than with how wonderful you all have been to me. Thank you so much for your patience with the last chapter, you all have no idea how much I appreciate it. In return for your patience, I've pushed myself to work on this chapter as much as I can, and I'm really excited for you all to read it. (: Without further ado, here is the next installment of "Home":**

**Favorite Line:**

"_I can still hear their screams late at night—it's what helps me sleep the most, my lullaby."_

* * *

My perfect wakening would have been gentle and deliberate, sunlight seeping into my bare skin as my limbs uncurled themselves from my body, fingers reaching up for my headboard. My eyelids would have fluttered open, only to barely catch myself drowning in the deep, intense gaze of Derek Hale. His calloused fingertips would brush tenderly against my cheek, forest green eyes carefully searching my face for each and every emotion that would rush through me. Jet black hair clung to his forehead, a shadow of prickly stubble creeping over his strong jaw and vaguely reminding me that he was in desperate need of a shave. None of it mattered though—all that mattered was the rugged man lying before me.

Unfortunately, this perfect dream was ripped away from me in an inescapable moment as my body was violently jolted awake by a harsh bump, my left temple smashing against something hard and cold. The cloth gag tied so tightly around my mouth that my delicate lips would surely bruise muffled my groan of pain, the other piece of cloth blackening my vision initiating me to squint through the obscurity in vain. My bound wrists and ankles were throbbing, the bindings knotted around my pale skin beginning to dig into my flesh.

Fear gripped my stomach as the abrupt darkness blanketed all around me, nearly causing my throat to close and my palms to sweat. Desperate gasps of air squeezed through my swollen throat, abrupt tears budding in my blue eyes and staining the cloth covering them. My nails pricked desperately at my palms, drawing sticky blood as my hands refused to relent from their fists. Stifling heat brushed my cheeks just as my heartbeat began to resound in my ears, enveloping my senses and forcing bile to burn at the back of my throat. Just as I was sure my body was going to explode, a familiar vision swam before my eyes: Derek lying next to me, his voice whispering into my ear something I could barely comprehend.

In a drawn-out instant, my fears subsided, draining out of my exhausted body as I found myself abruptly able to breathe. I blinked, unable to understand just what exactly had just happened. A twisted, strangled laugh barely escaped through my gag, allowing my heart to loosen and my fists unclenching. Using the gradually relaxing within my body and the abrupt silence to my advantage, I pressed the side of my fingers to the floor that I was lying on, feeling cool, smooth metal meet my hesitant touch. Flipping awkwardly onto my back, I pressed the soles of my sneakers upward only to have the stunted by something hard. The soft hum of an engine fluttered to my sensitive ears, resulting in the only explanation that could be struck in my mind—I was locked in someone's trunk.

Trying to avoid panicking, I struggled with my bindings, praying that whoever had tied them wasn't skilled with knots. Unfortunately they were tight as could be, irritating my skin and forcing me to give up. Sighing in frustration and angrily shaking a stubborn lock of hair out of my face, I tried to avoid the potential thought of who had snuck up on me. Only possible person came in mind, the one man who had managed to haunt me ever since I had fled from Portland. Ignoring the icy grip wrapped around my stomach, I determinably focused on what had brought me to that fateful stretch of road. Obviously this Rachael Adams hadn't exactly been truthful about my grandparents—the possibility that they could be hurt or worse instantly struck me, forcing me to swallow the lump forming in the back of my throat.

Struggling to not ponder on the subject of what was going to happen to me, I returned to struggling with my bindings. Just as I was sure whatever had captured my wrists was going to rip apart my skin, the car I was locked in began to slow, the road rolling underneath its tires growing bumpier with each second. Eventually the car came to a complete stop, forcing my breath to become lodged in my throat as I closely listened for something, anything.

Abruptly the popping sound of the car trunk opening resounded throughout my ears. Without thinking twice, I instantly kicked my feet out into the open air, fortunately colliding with something hard and, judging from the string of curses that resulted from my impact, alive. Blindly I thrashed in vain to escape from the train, until I apparently dipped over the edge and tumbled onto the ground. Dead leaves crunched under my body as they tangled in my unruly hair and scratched at my cheeks.

Just as I landed on the ground, a foot struck me in the side, driving all the air out of my lungs as I gasped out against my cloth gag in pain. Throbbing erupted in my side as I tried in vain to crawl away, but my assailant's hand reached out and roughly grabbed ahold of my long hair, dragging me back to him. My neck snapping back painfully, a cold, male's voice hissed into my ear, "If you pull a stunt like that again, I'll make sure you regret it."

The man then, ignoring my writhing struggle to escape, heaved me up over his shoulder as if I weighed nothing and began to carry me into the awaiting darkness. As he lugged me to his destination, I noticed the air beginning to change. Humidity pasted itself to my bare skin, my hair no doubt beginning to frizz. The air was thickening, glued to the inside of my throat as I fought to simply take a breath. It was as if we had, in an instant, travelled underground, far below the Earth's surface from where reality could possibly save me. Only one thought stuck me—no one would ever find me here.

The sound of a heavy door sliding open assaulted my ears and in barely a moment the man plopped down onto a chair. Somewhere distant—or maybe right next to me, I wasn't sure—a vaguely familiar female voice was saying, "Cheer up, my dear. We've finally found a friend to join this little party." Before I could even bother wondering where I had been taken or who was speaking, the cloth utterly blinding me was ripped away from me, inviting me to finally open my eyes.

In an instant harsh, fluorescent light flooded my vision, forcing me to cringe away in pain and blink several times, hoping to get a glimpse of my surroundings. Black linked chains hung from the wooden ceiling, the air thick and dank and reminding me vaguely of a cellar. As the severe light began to subside, I caught a faint, weak growl slowly crawling to my ears. Frowning in confusion, I forced myself to peek through the light and finally see what was hanging right before me: Derek, strung up by his wrists to a metal grate, thickset iron shackles restricting him from moving even a centimeter. He had been stripped of his shirt, three electrical wires taped tightly to his torso and connected to some distant place deep in the surrounding shadows.

These pieces of vague information were nonexistent to me at that very moment, as my eyes had instantly stumbled upon Derek's gaze, his forest green eyes evidently weak as they bore down upon me. Breath was sucked into my stifling lungs, rendering me speechless as I gaped up at him. Apparently I wasn't the only one who hadn't exactly been expecting this development—Derek's eyes widened, horror flashing across his face for just an instant before any emotion could possibly linger.

"Derek," I whispered, my gag forcing my voice to come out into an unintelligible garble as I was unable to stop myself as I struggled against my bindings. What the hell was going on? Why was he here? Why was _I _here?

Derek ripped his gaze from mine as he furiously glared into the darkness, snarling, "Let her go—she has nothing to do with this."

Before my approaching frown could even settle onto my face as I glanced over my shoulder, the darkness began to subside as a tall, striking woman stepped out of the shadows. Lush, thick golden brown hair spilled over her slender shoulders, long fingers clasped around her curved waist as mile-long legs strode forward towards me. Her face appeared to be carved from perfection, not a single blemish in sight as sea green eyes glittered in the fluorescent lights. It was only until she slightly turned her face that I caught the never-ending coldness of those same eyes.

"Oh, I don't that's quite true, Derek," smirked the woman, amusement edging into her confident voice. "After all, why would we want to send this pretty face away after all the trouble we went through to get her here—our fun hasn't even begun yet."

The woman's voice sparked a distant memory in me—Rachael Adams calling my cell phone, warning me about my grandparents. Fury building within me at being used, I narrowed my eyes at her, still rendered mute. The woman caught my gaze and smiled brilliantly down at me, completely unperturbed by my anger as she maneuvered herself from me, effectively blocking Derek from my sight.

"Oh, where are my manners? I don't believe we've been properly introduced," she said. "I'm Kate Argent—I'm sure you've met my brother and niece in the past, since this damn town is just so small."

Blinking in surprise at the all-too familiar surname, I had barely a moment to comprehend this information before Kate's long fingers reached out to untie the gag from around my mouth. Gasping for air, I managed to rasp, "What do you want from us?"

A musical laugh fluttered from Kate's pouty lips as her pointed fingernails abruptly reached out to gently caress against my cheek. Despite her tender touch, I immediately flinched away from her fingers, unwilling to give into her seemingly miniscule act of control.

As soon as her fingers found my face, a vicious roar was unleashed within the tiny room. My body jolted in surprise as I twisted around Kate to catch a glimpse of a writhing Derek, struggling in vain to escape his confinements. His face began to mutate, black fur creeping down the sides of his head and fangs sprouting from his lips as his eyes flashed dangerously electric blue. It was the face I had been dreaming about for many, many nights, even now forcing my insides to seize up. My eyes widened, unable to turn away from the monstrosity that was beginning to form right before me.

Kate, on the other hand, barely blinked as she strode over to a nearby wooden table that was supporting some sort of powerful battery. Cables protruded from it, eventually sprawling up to the same tape that was covering Derek's side. Kate coiled her fingers around a dial on the battery and, in the blink of an eye, electric currents shuddered through the cables and directly into Derek's body. His face instantly changed, reverting back to his human form as agony flashed across his face and his eyes slammed shut.

Tears sprang to my eyes at the sight—Derek had always appeared so strong, so put-together whenever we were together. But now, seeing him completely unravel, it was as if Kate Argent had stuck a knife square in my chest. Continuing to gaze in absolute horror, I barely noticed as a length of metal chains was looped around my chest, securing me closely to the chair. A familiar voice snapped lowly in my ear, "If you move even an inch, I'll make sure that your boyfriend suffers even more than he needs to."

The man had nothing to worry about—I was cemented to the chair, unable to even blink as Derek continued to writhe in pain. Desperately I shouted to Kate, furious tears staining my cheeks, "Stop! Please, stop hurting him!"

Kate appeared almost startled by the fear creeping into my voice, frowning down at me with a slight shake of her head. Eventually she sighed as she flicked her fingertips, lessening the current and allowing Derek to at least breathe once more. A sigh of relief settled from my lips as I urgently searched Derek's face, hoping that he was at least somewhat alright. Before I could meet his gaze, Kate's voice forced me to turn my eyes to her.

"He's not in as much pain as you think," she said calmly, striding towards Derek and sticking her index finger underneath his chin, propping his heavy head up so that he was staring directly down at her. Exhaustion was creeping on his face, but nothing could stifle the hatred flaring up from his forest green eyes. "The electric currents are mostly just to make sure that Derek here doesn't transform—we wouldn't want him to spoil all the fun now, would we?"

Unable to stifle my heated glare at her, I just barely noticed the two man still half-hidden in the shadows. Judging from the hooked, bloody nose the tall, lanky man was sporting, I would have to guess that he had been the one I had managed to kick when trying to escape from the car trunk. The man standing beside him with a rather bored expression was on the shorter side, possibly only a few inches taller than me. His head was clean shaven, his features rather boring and untraceable. However, the man's shoulders were remarkably broad for his stature, and, while he was hardly heavily muscled, he obviously held some power within his clenched fists.

As I turned back to Kate, I caught her following my gaze to the two men. Her frown deepening, she asked curiously, "Anderson, what the hell happened to your face?"

The tall, bloodied man shrugged his shoulders awkwardly and mumbled, "Little bitch caught me in the face when I tried to take her out of the trunk."

Even in the dank, dire conditions we had been caught in, I noted the tiny smirk that was flickering across Derek's face. Before I could question this, Kate snorted loudly and told him, "You deserve a lot more blood for letting a little girl get the edge on you. Please tell me you got a few licks in?"

"Managed to kick her in the side," replied Anderson, shooting a sharp glare towards me.

A thoughtful expression flashed across Kate's sharp features as she nodded slowly. A low growl emitted from deep within Derek's chest, but she coolly ignored it as she returned her gaze to Anderson. "That's not too bad," she admitted. "I'm thinking you can do a little better though."

Small grin flashing across his face, Anderson swiftly nodded before striding towards me, his fist reaching back and, before I could even blink, smashing into the side of my face. Pain bubbled up on my cheek, swelling already beginning to hasten deep underneath the surface of my pale skin. My head ducked forward, a curtain of long, dark curly hair shielding my face from the ferocious rage casting across Derek's face as he hastily began to transform. Unfortunately, his roars were soon replaced with the soft hum of electricity. Forcing my throbbing head back up, I was forced to gaze up at Derek, who was barely recuperating from the second round of currents that had raced into his body.

"Why am I here?" I forced myself to ask Kate, whose back was turned to me as she quickly adjusted the dials of the battery. "What do you want from us?"

At first, Kate refused to respond, instead turning back to Anderson and the other man and ordering them, "Out, both of you. I think I can handle these two on my own for now."

Neither man objected as they both stepped out of the room, sliding the heavy wooden door back into place as soon as they were clear of the threshold. A few moments after they left, Kate turned back to me, a sickly sweet smile plastered on her beautiful face as she said, "I have to say, Jane, I'm very disappointed that we haven't been introduced before. No doubt my brother wanted to avoid our meeting as much as possible—Chris was always too entrenched in his stupid code. He's never realized how fun it is to poke a toe or two over the line. I suppose threatening innocent lives was never a part of his agenda." A cruel laugh tumbled from Kate's lips as she added, "Of course, I would hardly call you innocent—especially not if you're foolish enough to get involved with a monster."

A scoff erupted from deep within my throat, my instincts unable to stifle it as Kate abruptly turned her narrowed eyes down to me. "Wouldn't a person who kidnaps and locks up two strangers in a cellar constitute as a monster?"

Kate cocked a curious eyebrow at me and repeated, "Stranger?" Ignoring my puzzled frown, she casted a glance over at Derek, whose head was still ducked down. Tilting her head to the side, she asked him in a faux hurt voice, "You never told her about us, Derek? I have to say, I'm a little hurt—after all, you never can quite forget your first love."

Shock forced me to bristle, my shoulders stiffening as I stared up at Derek, praying that he would meet my gaze, that he would offer some evidence that this possibly couldn't be true. How could he, let alone anyone, loved this cold shell of a human being? Unfortunately, Derek refused to even glance in my vague direction, instead glaring down at Kate and coolly telling her, "Stop. Now."

"And why should I, Derek?" said Kate, flipping her curtain of golden brown hair away from her face as she stared up at him. "Don't you think your little girlfriend should know about us? About all the fun we had together?"

Derek said nothing, instead reluctantly turning his face towards mine. His mouth half-opened, as if on the verge of offering me something, anything that would tear me away from this horrible moment. Instead, he tightly pressed his lips together and ducked his head down once more, almost in shame.

"Well, I suppose I'll have to be the one to tell you the story, Jane," sighed Kate in slight disappointment. "About…six years ago, I think, a young, rather handsome werewolf met a stunning young woman and instantly fell in love with her. She was everything he had ever dreamed of—funny, smart, witty, and, of course, startlingly beautiful. He was so sure that she was absolutely perfect that he even invited her to his family reunion—the werewolf was desperate to introduce her to each and every member of his pack. There was only one tiny problem—the woman just happened to be a werewolf hunter, one was using her good looks to get access to one of the most powerful packs in the entire state.

"When each and every member of the werewolf's family, young and old, arrived at his house, the woman sent her little minions out to burn the entire house down as she watched from deep within the surrounding forest. I have to say, I can still hear their screams late at night—it's what helps me sleep the most, my lullaby."

Hot fury flowed through my veins as I glared up at Kate, unable to listen to this atrocious tale any longer. Trembling, I snarled at her, "You _are_ the monster here—the people you murdered were innocent compared to how evil and horrible _you _are!"

Kate simply chuckled in amusement, condescension oozing from her as she sneered down at me. "You are so naïve. One day, you'll see just how innocent werewolves can be."

Unable to stifle my anger, I demanded, "What on Earth did they ever do to you? How can you be so damn certain that they deserved to be murdered like that by a heartless—"

In the hasty blink of an eye, Kate's hand wrapped around my throat, wrath snapping deep within her cold, sea green eyes. Softly she hissed down to me, "You know nothing. You'll die one day for that loose tongue."

Unwilling to stand for this any longer, once I felt Kate's fingers beginning to gradually loosen I slammed my head forward, smashing my forehead into Kate's nose and forcing her away from me. Satisfaction raced through me, despite the dull ache beginning to sprout in my right temple. She gasped out in pain, clutching her bloody nose as she, despite her injury, smirked down at me. "You'll pay for that soon enough, Jane," she grinned before sharply turning on her heel and striding out of the cellar, slamming the heavy wooden door behind her and leaving Derek and I in silent darkness.

* * *

**And that's the end of this chapter. I have to say, I really enjoyed writing this one—I suppose torturing my characters makes me fairly happy, haha. What'd you all think? Thank you so much for reading, and please don't forget to leave a review! Thanks again for reading!**


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

**I honestly feel like I'm repeating myself in these Author's Notes, but all I can say is thank you so much for your continued support and love of this story. I really do appreciate it, and it really helped me find the free time to sit down and write this next chapter. Without further ado, here is the next installment of "Home":**

**Favorite Line:**

"_If I want to be with someone I love, I will."_

Four minutes.

Four minutes and counting had ticked by since Kate Argent had stridden out of the cellar Derek and I were sealed in, and neither of us had said a single word. Both of my temples as well as my cheek were throbbing, but I was barely able to ignore them as I simply gazed up at Derek. He was determinably avoiding me, instead staring off to the side towards the battery that was still connected to his side. A light hum was still emitting off the power source, no doubt preventing Derek from transforming and rescuing us both.

My tongue still seemed to be tied in my mouth—I was still reeling from the horrific reality of what had caused the fire that had eviscerated Derek's entire family. Sure, I had always suspected that the Argents had been the perpetrators of the fire, but I had never even dreamed of the depths that Kate had gone to in order to get her information on the house and the Hale family. Using Derek like that, toying with his emotions and effectively destroying his entire being…I forced my eyelids shut, unwilling to imagine the pain and guilt that must have festered within him for all these years, that was still with him even now. No wonder he had been so reluctant to become involved with me—it wasn't as if his first love had gone off without a hitch.

Reluctantly I opened my eyes, only to find Derek abruptly staring at me. Parting my lips, I struggled to find the words to express my horror, my true pity for him. Unfortunately, all I could muster up was a soft, "I'm so sorry, Derek."

When Derek refused to respond, instead turning his face away from me once more, I was surprised to find myself asking, "Did Laura know?"

It seemed like the moments dragged by before Derek replied, "No. I never told anyone."

I thought back to the young woman I had befriended during the late summer months, the slight impish grin that had sprouted on her face when she had first told me about her younger brother. Biting my bottom lip, I gently told him, "She would never have blamed you for what happened."

"You don't know that," he said shortly.

"I—"

"Stop," Derek abruptly cut me off coldly, his intense gaze finally shifting to my face. As soon as I caught the look on his face, I instantly regretting ever wanting him to look me in the eye—pure fury was seething from him, rolling off of his body in waves as he glared down at me. "Just stop, Jane. You didn't know Laura nearly as well as you thought you did. You knew her for what, a couple months? I've known her my entire life, and I know for a fact that she would've never forgiven me. It was my fault—my stupidity and naivety—that killed our entire family. How could anyone forgive that?"

I waited patiently for him to finish his rant, my face flushing at his harsh words but refusing to back down. Once Derek finally took a long, deep breath, I allowed myself to calmly say, "I may not have known Laura all that well, and certainly not as long as you did, but there was one thing that I knew about her—she was a good person, Derek, with a good heart. She would never be the type of person to hate her brother—her last living relative—for a mistake he made when he was still a child. You were manipulated by Kate—she's the one to blame for what happened to your family, who Laura would've blamed if she had known. You never lit the match, Derek. It wasn't your fault."

Although Derek didn't respond, I noticed his glare softening ever so slightly. Letting out a soft sigh, I turned my own gaze down to my lap. Abrupt throbbing erupted within my cheek where that man had slammed his fist into me, forcing me to suck in air through my gritted teeth and wince painfully.

"Are you alright?"

I blinked up at Derek, genuinely surprised by the concern that had managed to creep into his voice. Struggling not to flush, I shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly and replied, "I'll be fine. It'd be nice to have some of that healing ability of yours though."

The corner of Derek's mouth ticked up for just a moment before returning to its usual flat position. In an instant, butterflies erupted within my stomach, forcing me to duck my head down to avoid him seeing my pink skin. Scolding myself for acting like a schoolgirl with a crush, I unexpectedly recalled my conversation with Peter earlier that day. It had seemed like years ago since I had last spoken to him, although, judging from the gradual darkness slipping through the barred windows behind Derek, it was probably only several hours ago.

"Peter came to see me today," I told him, watching as Derek slowly his head turned towards me. Before he could even ask, I added, "He was looking for you. Apparently one of the first stops he wanted to make was at my house."

"Did he…" Derek's voice trailed off, his forest green eyes searching my face for my unspoken answer.

"Nothing happened," I hastily replied. "He just tried to scare me into telling him where you were. I had no idea, of course, so he eventually left. He…" Biting my lip, I forced my eyes up to his face and finished, "He told me about the deal that he made with you…about how, in order to protect me, you agreed to never see me again. You…you never meant anything you said that night, did you? It was all a ploy to stop me from wanting to see you ever again, wasn't it?"

At first, Derek didn't respond, instead simply staring down at me, clearly working in his mind how he wanted to react to my accusations. For my part, I said nothing more, instead calmly meeting his gaze and waiting patiently for him to reply. Finally Derek told me, "It doesn't matter anymore."

"Yes, it does," I argued, unwilling to simply sit by and let him push this topic under the rug. "It matters to me. Derek, you didn't have to do all that just to protect me. We would've figured out a way to make it work so that you would never have to work with Peter—"

"That didn't matter to me, Jane," he interrupted. "If I had to, I can join Peter's pack, I can do what I need to. My priority was making sure that you were safe and that nothing bad would ever happen to you. If it meant saving you from being split in half just like Laura was, pushing you away was worth it. You were better off in the long run."

"And don't I have a say in my future?" I couldn't help but ask testily. "No offense, Derek, but what you may think is better off for me doesn't matter to me. If I want to help someone I care about, I will. If I want to protect someone that matters to me, I will. If I want to be with someone I…" My voice trailed off, the next word I had been so determined to use clogging my throat.

My eyes still wide, I stared up at Derek, whose face was completely stoic as his shoulders slowly stiffened under my gaze. Was I ready to use _that _word, after all that Derek had done to me, all that he had put me through? Again, the memory of waking up in the car trunk rushed back to me, the closing of my throat and the absolute panic erupting within my body. With just one little vision of Derek, it had all drained out of my body, replaced with warmth that I had never experienced before. At that moment, the past hadn't mattered, not one bit. All that counted was the fact that, in spite of how much pain I had suffered through, the tears that I had shed, I was utterly in love with Derek Hale.

Taking in a shuddering breath, I tilted my chin up stubbornly and told him, "If I want to be with someone I love, I will."

Not a word slipped from Derek as he glowered down at me, his jaw ticking under my gaze. No matter how harsh and blunt his stare was, not a single fiber of my body regretted what I admitted to. If anything were to happen to either of us, I wanted him to know that someone still loved him, that he wasn't as alone as he imagined he was.

When Derek still refused to say anything, I relented and continued, "I don't want you to say anything in return, Derek. I don't expect you to say those three little words, not after what that horrid woman did to you. It would break anyone, let alone someone as young as you were. I just…if anything happens to either of us, I just wanted you to know."

As my shoulders slumped slightly in relief at the weight that had been lifted off of me, drifting off into the sticky, humid air above us, my head ducked down, eyes shifting to my lap. No matter what he said to me or did, at least he would always know how I felt. Just as my neck began to ache, Derek's voice drew my gaze back to him.

"I'm sorry, Jane," he told me, initiating a puzzled frown to form on my face. "I'm sorry for ever getting you involved in all of this. I should never have agreed to meet with you after I told you about Laura. If I hadn't…"

"It doesn't matter," I interrupted his trailing voice. "I wouldn't have just gone on with my life, not knowing what happened to Laura. I would have hounded you until you gave in—you might've killed me in the process, but I would've eventually found out about Laura and all of this."

Derek's weak half-smile was enough to melt my insides, forcing me to bite my bottom lip to stifle my own smile. Casting a curious glance around the cellar, I eventually asked him, "What is it that Kate wants to know?"

"Who the Alpha is, and the second Beta," replied Derek. Catching my doubtful expression, he added, "No matter how much pain she puts me through, I can't tell her about who he is. It's too much of an instinct to protect the Alpha, no matter how…questionable his actions are. Even if I wanted to, I can't tell her. And I won't tell her about the second Beta—she'll kill him in a second."

Guessing that his unwillingness to offer names to me was due to the possibility that we may be being eavesdropped on, I reluctantly nodded. Remembering another part of my conversation with Peter earlier that day, I abruptly said, "The Alpha told me that, if anything were to happen to…either of his Betas, I would be his next target for a Beta."

Initially Derek said nothing, intense forest green eyes searching my open face carefully. Eventually he simply stated, "You don't want the bite."

I blinked up at him in surprise, barely registering the fact that he had caught onto my inner desires and fears faster than I ever had. Biting the inside of my cheek thoughtfully, I pondered the idea of becoming a werewolf, of joining the pack and gaining ultimate abilities in the blink of an eye. It would be incredible to have lightning-quick reflexes and immense strength, not to mention the ability to heal instantly. But then the small, responsible voice of my consciousness whispered in the back of my mind about the horrors Derek lived with every day—the constant fear of being hunted down and mutilated like an animal, the weight of a dark secret that no one in the world could possibly ever understand. Before I could contemplate any longer, I found myself telling him, "After seeing what you and Scott go through—always running, always having to look over your shoulder—it just doesn't seem worth it. I'm not willing to give up my human life for that."

As Derek studied my face with an expression that was impossible for me to read, the heavy wooden door was heaved open and the sound of clicking heels upon the stone floor resounded through the cellar. Kate eventually stepped forward out of the swirling shadows, a calm smile planted on her pouty lips as she smoothed her long fingers over a slim, metallic, cylinder-shaped object in her grasp. Through the darkness I was able to catch the black flashing against her pale fingertips, but what exactly the object was completely escaped me, forcing me to turn my eyes to Kate's cold, sea green eyes.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," she said coolly, her gaze switching between Derek and me. Ignoring how we hadn't said single a word, she turned on her heel to face Derek and asked, "So, Derek, has having your little friend down here with you allowed you to loosen your tongue? I still have some questions I'm just _dying _to have answered."

Derek kept his lips tightly pressed together, his forest green eyes boring down into mine as he calmly ignored Kate. Even though neither of us spoke aloud, it took me barely a second to immediately realize just what Derek was asking of me. Biting down hard on my tongue, I gave him an inconspicuous nod before Kate could catch on to either of us.

"No?" asked Kate, glancing now back over to me and forcing my gaze onto her cold eyes. When, again, she did not earn a response, she let out a soft sigh of disappointment and strode over to the battery wired to Derek's insides. Once her fingers reached out to the knobs, my shoulders instantly stiffened, expecting Derek's eyes to squeeze shut with quick agony at any moment. Instead, Kate's fingertips only ticked the knob forward a couple of centimeters, forcing only a grunt of pain to be emitted from the shirtless man hanging before me.

Catching my expression of pure puzzlement, Kate explained, "This is only to make sure that Derek doesn't many any…drastic decisions during our exercise."

Before I could even comprehend just what she meant, Kate snapped her wrist forward and extended the object in her hand, the crackling emulating from it forcing me to completely freeze, my eyes unblinking as I stared at it nervously. Catching my gaze, the willowy, long-legged woman said, "I'm just taking a shot in the dark here, but I'm guessing that you have no idea what this is that I'm holding, do you?" At my blank stare, Kate rolled her eyes and, with an almost appreciate expression warming her stare, glanced down at the object in question. "This is a new toy that a few friends of my family created a few months ago. It's basically a Taser with a much longer reach; after all, hunters like my brother and I would rather be dead than offer a werewolf a chance to bite us. Werewolves, humans—it works on them all. Of course, for this interrogation, I'm focusing on the latter."

At Kate's last few words, her chilling gaze shifted to my face, an eerily calm smile spreading across her sharp features. My heartbeat instantly began to beat nervously against my rib cage as all of my instincts screamed at me to glance at Derek for hope, for support, for some sort of explanation as to what was going to happen. Unfortunately, my attention was ripped to shreds by the tip of the object of Kate's hand nearing my face, eventually settling on the curtain of hair veiling my bruised cheek. Almost gently the object brushed my hair away from my face, exposing the fear that was building deep within my cerulean blue eyes.

"Last chance, Derek," whispered Kate, allowing me to finally catch a glimpse of Derek. The uneasiness building within his forest green eyes and the tick of his clenched jaw was the last image imbedded in my mind before Kate lightly prodded me in the shoulder.

Dull pain pricked at my skin as liquid fire pulsed through my veins, enflaming my insides in the blink of an eye. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I stubbornly held them inside, not allowing for a single one to steam down my bruised cheek. Just as hastily as the electricity jolted my body, the pain began to subside from within me. My body shuddered as the agonizing sensations drained from my body, but not a single gasp of pain managed to escape from between my tightly pressed lips throughout the entire brief nightmare.

My eyes clamping shut, I listened as Derek was shouting desperately, fear building in his voice, "Stop! Don't touch her with that again!"

Only a few inches from my face, Kate's voice lofted into the darkness as she said coolly, "That was only a taste of what's to come for you, Jane. Only one thing can save you, and that's if our dear Derek agrees to give up the identity of the Alpha and the second Beta. That's all I need, and you'll be set free."

"I can't!" snarled Derek furiously. "You know I can't! It's not possible for a Beta to give up his Alpha—"

"You'd be surprised how, under distress, just what werewolves are capable," Kate cut him off.

I chose this moment to allow my eyelids to flutter open, only to be startled by Kate's face only a few breaths from mine. She was studying my face closely, for what exactly I wasn't sure. But, as soon as my eyes met hers, she instantly straightened and lightly caressed my side with the tip of the object. Chuckling as I desperately struggled to shrink away from it, she mused almost joyfully, "What's the problem, little mouse? Afraid of a little…pain?"

At the last word, she shoved the object into my side, letting it linger there for at least three minutes as electricity was unleashed within my body. Blood pulsed deep in my ears, heartbeat jumping up into my throat and each and every nerve exploding underneath the surface of my skin. Agony weakened my resolve as screams ripped from deep within my throat, the shrieks resounding of the stone cellar walls and piercing at my sensitive ears. Whatever Derek or Kate were saying never bothered to reach me, even after she had ripped the object away from me. Names and words seemed to vanish from my mind, memories flitting over my veiled eyes as all of my knowledge was torn away from me and haphazardly replaced. As my body slowly began to stop shuddering, all that I heard was the blood rushing through my head and eventually the soft gasps of breath that managed to escape from my throat.

"…tell you," came a wounded voice, one that sounded vaguely familiar to me. "I'll tell you whatever you want. Just please…just stop."

The cold voice that replied forced my eyes to open and blankly stare as Kate's face began to swim right before my gaze. Once she realized that I had gradually begun to recover, a smirk flitted across her face as she turned back towards Derek, whose face was still swirling in the shadows. "Nice to see you've come around, Derek. Let's start with something a little easier—the second Beta?"

At first, Derek said nothing, clearly uncomfortable with giving up the Beta so easily. Initially my eyes closed, relieved that he hadn't given in, that he had kept with what we had wordlessly promised to one another—never give in, never give up what they wanted.

"I'm disappointed you, Derek," said Kate, her head shaking as she raised her hand to prod me with the object once more. "Just so you know, this may sting a little."

In the deep silence of the cellar, as I awaited the impending pain once more, a buzzing noise began to slowly reverberate off the stone cellar walls. Kate hesitated before sighing and, with an annoyed roll of her eyes, dug her free hand into her pocket and pulled a cell phone out. Glancing at the screen and grimacing, she turned to the both of us and warned coldly, "If either of you make a noise, I won't hesitate to kill you both without a second thought."

Not bothering to wait to see if we understood this order, Kate put the phone to her ear and coolly said, "Yeah?...Okay….Good to hear….See you soon."

In less than five minutes, Kate was shoving her phone back into her pocket and smiled gleefully at us both and informed, "It appears that I am no longer in need of either of you anymore. My brother just so happened to find out exactly who the second Beta is, and, Derek, I'm really quite disappointed that you were so desperate to protect him, especially at the expense of this poor girl here. That's just not like you, Derek."

A mocking laugh managed to escape from in between her lips as she slipped from the cellar, the heavy wooden door beginning to slide shut behind her. Just before it went to close, Kate's last words managed to slip through the cracks as she sang out, "By the way, I'll give Scott McCall your best!"

Once the wooden door slammed shut, pain abruptly began to bubble underneath my skin once more, hands trembling as I desperately gripped at my fingers, hoping to keep my gasps of pain silent. Liquid fire pricked at my skin, tears budding at the corners of my eyes. Through gritted teeth, I breathed, "Derek!" just before my throat began to close and my eyes rolled back into my head. Derek's responding words fell on deaf ears as silence resounded deep within my mind and darkness became my companion.

**And that's the end of this chapter. I'm honestly still not too sure about this chapter, haha, but I hope you all enjoyed this. (: Thank you so much for reading, and please don't forget to leave a review!**


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

**So we're coming to the home stretch of the first season of "Teen Wolf". After receiving another question about this in a review, I'll just let you all know this: for plot of season two, I will be making a brand new story as a sequel to "Home". I most definitely won't be leaving you all hanging for season one, since I would probably go crazy myself from not being able to continue writing these characters! As always, I want to thank you all for your incredible reviews, and please do keep them coming. Without further ado, here is the next installment of "Home":**

**Favorite Line:**

"_I just don't think this is going to be able to wait."_

* * *

Fear had never been a foreign concept to me. Long, restless nights as I waited for my dad to eventually return home were filled with it as my concern doubled with age of whether or not he was safe. No matter how many times he assured me that I was the child and that I had no need to worry about his safety, I always would lay awake in my bed, nervously waiting for the inevitable jingle of his keys and the sigh of exhaustion that would emit from him when he would finally sit down in his favorite squashy armchair. Fear had haunted me after the threatening letter had been submitted to the police station about how I would be my father's murderer's text target and Pat Snow, my father's old partner, had been forced to sit me down and explain that I would have to leave Portland immediately. Fear had plagued my thoughts whenever the lights were snuffed out and the only colors that met my eyes were black and so much blood red. Fear was no stranger of mine.

However, no one had ever stricken fear in me as much as Kate Argent had.

Even when I had lost consciousness and was roaming around in my mind, her bone-chilling voice continued to creep within me, her eerily musical laugh making my skin crawl. Those soulless sea green eyes watched my every step, eager to swoop in at the first mistake I made and punish me for it with liquid fire. She was so dead and burnt inside, so…void of any empathy for anyone, that she was someone I could never comprehend. Perhaps that was why she frightened me so—she was plagued with the same darkness that had haunted me ever since my father's death.

It was not my fear of Kate that awoke me. It was not the sticky, humid of the cellar under the Hale House that I had been locked away in that had helped me awaken. It was not the abrupt slashing of my chain bindings that dragged me back to reality. It was not the remnants of the dull throbbing from Kate's "interrogation" that allowed me to crawl back into my own exhausted body. Instead, what _did _rescue me from the surrounding shadows and darkness of my inner mind was the hurried, concerned whisper that caressed my face as a familiar voice repeated my name furiously.

My heavy eyelids fluttered open, darkness still clinging to my eyesight as my surroundings all around me blurred together in an indescribable haze. All that I saw clearly was Derek's face inches from mine, concern tugging at the corners of his lips as he gazed determinably down at me. My surprise at the fact that he was not dangling before me but was kneeling on the floor with his bare arms wrapped around my shoulders as he effortlessly propped me up was numb—all that mattered was that he was there, that he was alive.

"Hi," I couldn't help but smile weakly up at him, just relieved that he wasn't in pain any longer. "Are…are you alright?" I asked him, just to make sure. My tongue felt heavy in my mouth, as if I hadn't quite figured out how to speak around it.

A scoff buried itself deep within Derek's throat as he rolled his eyes at me in disbelief. "I'll be fine, but that doesn't matter—I wasn't the one who passed out."

I followed his gaze down to my sore body, hissing through gritted teeth in pain just as his long fingers accidentally brushed against my side, right where Kate had electrocuted me before. Just as his lips parted to apologize, I hastily stopped him by saying, "I'll live. It's just a little…sensitive. What happened to me before, after Kate left?"

"I'm not sure," replied Derek, thoughtfully frowning. "It may have been a panic attack after all the stress that was put on your body." He hesitated, glancing down at my bruising skin and instantly deepening his frown. "Jane, I…" his voice trailed off, the unmistakable stench of guilt staining his face. Eventually, when I wasn't quite sure what he was going to say, Derek continued, "I didn't realize that she was going to question you. I figured she'd keep her attention on me—"

"Derek, stop," I interrupted him, finally catching on to what he was trying to say. I struggled to sit up, but exhaustion determinably weighed me down. Biting down hard on my bottom lip, I pushed my palms behind my back and shoved myself up so that I was able to stubbornly meet Derek's gaze as I awkwardly sat atop the cold concrete floor. "Derek, this isn't your fault. I wasn't sure what Kate was going to do, but if it meant not having to watch you being her guinea pig, it was worth it. Even if it hurts like hell later," I added, cupping my palm over my burns and breathing in sharply at the piercing pain that shot through my body.

When Derek didn't respond, I found myself glancing over his shoulder and catching sight of the dangling iron shackles behind his head, bits of pale skin and flesh still clinging to the metal. Suddenly realizing that moments before Derek had been hanging from those same handcuffs, I frowned in puzzlement up at him and asked, "What happened? How did you get out? And how did you get me out of that chair?" I checked over my shoulder, only to find the chair still intact, but the thick chains that had bound me were in pieces scattered around the base of the chair.

He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly in response, refusing to turn away from me, as if he was sure that I would faint once more. "After you passed out…I don't know, I guess I stopped thinking about the pain and managed to break free. And after getting out of those shackles, getting you free was easy." At first, Derek set his jaw, unsure about continuing, but eventually he added, "After you said my name, I swore your heart stopped beating. It was as if…"

"Hey," I interrupted him, my voice gentler now as hand crept up to tenderly cup his cheek, dark stubble prickling against my skin. I forced him to look directly down at me, hoping that he would see that I was genuine when I said, "I'm fine, Derek. I may be a little bruised, but I'm fine. That's all that matters, right?"

Derek reluctantly nodded, apparently allowing the slight shade of guilt to bubble deep in his stomach. Intense forest green eyes bore down into mine, powerful, indescribable emotions piling out of them and melting my insides completely. Before I could even comprehend just what was happening, Derek leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine, his fingers tangling themselves in my unruly hair and dragging me even closer.

At first, I was rigid, not quite sure how to return his kiss; after the horrible things he had said to me that night, I had been positive that I would never have to concern myself with getting near Derek again, let alone actually kissing him. But slowly, as his lips gently worked against mine, I found myself relaxing into his embrace and winding my arms around his neck. As much as I would have loved to remain there forever in his arms, hidden away from the rest of the battling worlds, a little, extremely annoying voice in the back of my head hissed how there was still o much work to be done.

Reluctantly I pulled away from him, sighing against his lips in frustration as Derek leaned his forehead against mine. A moment later he said quietly, "We need to get out of here before Kate or anyone else comes back."

Chewing on my bottom lip, I grudgingly nodded and untangled my limbs from his, pressing my palms against the smooth concrete floor and struggling to push myself up. Before I could bat an eyelash, Derek gently wrapped a strong arm around my shoulders and heaved me onto my feet. Offering him a quick, appreciative smile, I hastily made sure that I had gotten my bearings before taking a step forward. My shaky legs nearly buckled, but I hurriedly stopped the closely-watching Derek from helping me anymore.

"I'm fine," I stubbornly said. "I can do this."

Determinably I continued taking baby steps toward the heavy wooden door, expecting Derek to be following me. However, when I glanced over my shoulder, I caught him striding over to the table that held the battery, the forgotten cables flopping on the floor. Before, I had only noticed the battery that had been attached to Derek, but now, as I silently watched him, I noticed Derek's shirt, leather jacket, as well as a few other belongings strewn across the table surface. It was only when he began to collect those belongings that I managed to find my voice and tell him, "I'll meet you outside, okay?"

Not even bothering to check and make sure that he had heard me, I heaved open the sliding wooden door and, after a quick peek around just to make sure that I was, in fact, alone, stepped over the threshold. The hallway I found myself standing in was obviously used rarely, as strings of cheap lanterns were nailed to the walls haphazardly. The dim light from the lanterns exposed the heaps of dusts and glittering spider webs clinging to the corners and tight crevices of the hallway, forcing me to wrinkle my nose in disgust as I slowly travelled away from the doorway.

In the thick, resounding silence of the deserted hallway, only my steps on the dusty floor offered any comforting noise. My stomach squeezed in knots nervously as I mutely wished that Derek would hurry up and catch up with me eventually. But the stubborn voice in the back of my head snapped that I was perfectly fine, that I could take care of myself without the help of the big, bad werewolf. So I continued my nervous path through the hallway, stubby nails digging into the soft flesh of my palms with each hesitant step.

Just as I weaved my way around a shadowy corner, I nearly collided with the familiar hooked nose of the tall, lanky man that had lugged me into the cellar seemingly ages ago. Instantly I froze, unsure of just how to react, and apparently I wasn't the only one; Anderson gaped down at me in pure surprise, obviously not having expected to find one of his prisoners free and roaming around in the hallway. My gasps of breath lodged in my throat, ice rushing through my veins as I breathlessly waited for something, anything to happen, my feet cemented to the floor in surprise. We both stood there for half of a second, simply staring at each other in shock and reluctance to be the first to move.

Unwilling to simply stand there any longer, I clumsily went to spin on my heel and race away from Anderson. Unfortunately, just as I managed to land one foot in front of the other, the man wrapped his long, skeletal fingers around my forearm and easily dragged me back to him. Wincing at his tight grip, my elbow snapped back and lodged in his gut, temporarily loosening his fingers and temporarily allowing me to escape. Just as I made to get away, Anderson snapped out his foot and tangled himself in my weak legs, forcing me to the ground, the dust painfully stinging my eyes as my bruised cheek slammed down upon the hard surface. A pained cry escaped me as Anderson roughly shoved the toe of his shoe into my injured side, his cold, glittering black eyes unnerving as he glared down at me.

"Kate sent me to dispose of you both," smirked the tall, lanky man as I gasped out in pain. "She wanted to make sure that I took care of you first, so that werewolf scum would be able to watch. But I just don't think this is going to be able to wait."

As I shakily clenched my fist to my side and struggled to slowly crawl away, Anderson simply watched me, a predator stalking its prey as it waited patiently to dive in for the kill. It seemed that he grew impatient with my slow, clumsy movements as he maneuvered himself to stand over me and effortlessly flipped me onto my back. In the blink of an eye his long fingers clenched around my throat, squeezing painfully tight as his black eyes and hideously swollen hooked nose gazed down at me. My nails scratched at his white knuckles in vain, but Anderson ignored them as he continued to squeeze the air completely out of my throat.

Just as black and white spots sprouted within my eyes, Anderson was ripped off of me, his fingers instantly releasing my throat and allowing hasty gulps of air to rush back into my lungs. As I struggled to sit up, I watched in silent horror as Derek, electric blue eyes furious and gleaming fangs bared, let out a hideous roar as he shoved Anderson up against the wall across from me. There was nothing but fresh fear rolling off the man in heavy waves, but Derek took no notice as he waited for barely a moment before diving into the man's throat with his razor-sharp teeth and shredding his throat into chunks of pink flesh.

Once Derek silently allowed Anderson's lifeless body to slowly slump down to the floor, he wiped his blood-soaked mouth with the leather sleeve of his jacket and turned around to face me, his face returned to its normal state. I shoved myself back to my feet, slowly stepping forward to stand beside the man who had, for the umpteenth time, managed to save me once more. From the corner of my eye I caught Derek staring down at me almost apprehensively, as if he wasn't quite sure how I would respond having witnessed him killing someone.

To be honest, _I _wasn't even quite sure how to react to having watched as Derek brutally killed this man. Sure, he may have been a fellow human being and had earned a right to live, but, if Derek hadn't intervened, Anderson surely would have ended up strangling me. How could I truly be upset about the death of someone who would have killed me without a second thought? After all, he was allied with Kate, who was, at least in my eyes, the one person who did truly deserve to die. So, swallowing the reluctant lump at the back of my throat, I silently bent down and dug my trembling fingers into Anderson's belt and retrieved the handgun clipped to his side.

Checking the magazine to see how many bullets were inside of it—12 rounds—I glanced over at Derek and awkwardly told him, "Thanks," as I tucked the gun into the waistband of the back of my jeans.

Nodding, Derek gently touched the small of my back and helped push me forward so that we could continue to walk in silence. With each step that I took, strength returned to my once-shaking legs, the muscles slowly returning to their semi-strong state. Once we reached the entrance of the hallway, gusts of chilly nighttime air breathed against my face and cooled my warm cheeks. Breathing in the fresh air greedy, I reluctantly watched as Derek first slipped out of the opening and, reaching back, help me climb out of the pathway and into the fresh air once more.

Glancing around and finding the Hale House only a short distance away, I couldn't help but give a sigh of relief at its pure familiarity. Glancing back at Derek, I couldn't stop myself from smiling up at him and saying, "It's almost over."

Derek didn't return, instead frowning in the distance at the shadows cast by the tall, thick trees surrounding us. Puzzled, I followed his gaze and, as my human eyes adjusted to the darkness, spotted the dark figure nearing us. In the dim moonlight that was able to stream through the obstructing treetops, I was finally able to watch as Scott McCall slowed his rapid pace as he gazed at the both of us in surprise.

"Scott," I smiled warmly up at him, moving to take a step forward. Abruptly Derek's hand reached out and wrapped around my wrist, immediately stopping from going any farther. Frowning up at him confusion, I was startled by the distant, cold expression on his face as he glared out at Scott. "What…" I tried to ask, but even my confused words were burned out of me by Derek's hard stare.

"How did you find us?" Derek called out into the chilled darkness.

Scott instantly stopped at the coolness of Derek's voice, now standing a handful of feet away from us in a pool of moonlight. Glancing nervously over at me before returning his gaze to Derek, he replied loudly, "I found Jane's car on the side of the road. I followed her scent here…I figured that whoever took her had to know where you were." Now staring directly at me, he asked, "Are you alright?"

Smiling tightly, I said, "I've been better. I'll be fine when I get out of here."

Despite what I said, none of us moved, instead standing numbly and gazing at one another. Just as I was growing impatient with my confusion as to what the hell was going on, Scott said, "I need your help, Derek. I need to protect my friends and my family from Peter, but I can't stop him all on my own. I know that you don't want to be in his pack, not after what he did to your sister. You have to help me."

When Derek didn't respond, I turned up my face up to him, fully expecting him, after hearing what I had said about Peter, that he would gladly agree to help Scott. But when he instead said nothing, I couldn't help but quietly plead with him, "Derek…you don't have to be a part of his pack. You don't owe him anything."

"You don't understand, Jane," he told me firmly. "Peter…he's all I have left. I'm sure I could convince him to stop…I can't…" Derek's voice trailed, each of his weak arguments clogging his throat as he reluctantly gazed down at my stubbornly set jaw. "He didn't mean to kill Laura," he finally was able to argue. "It was an accident, one that he swore wouldn't happen again."

"That's not true," reasoned Scott rather desperately. He took a few steps closer to us, digging in his pockets for a couple seconds and eventually producing a folded piece of paper. Once it was held up in the moonlight, it took me a few moments of squinting through the darkness to realize just what it was—a picture of a corpse of a deer with a spiral symbol embedded into its flesh. "You know what this is, Derek. It's what brought Laura here in the first place—the police report about the deer that was attacked in the woods a couple months ago. Just after this happened, only one other person came into the veterinarian's office for a copy of the report—Peter's nurse. She and Peterwere the ones who sent it to Laura and brought her to Beacon Hills and started all of this. Peter has been planning all of this along."

I blinked up at Derek, praying that, for once, he'd listen to reason and understand that he had been wrong in trusting Peter. When nothing but emotionless stoicism continued to stain his face, I bit my bottom lip and added in a soft whisper, "Scott's right, Derek. I know that Peter is all that's left of your family, but he died in that fire, along with everyone else. Laura was the last of your family, and he killed her."

Derek glanced down at me, again not allowing any of his emotions to be present on his face. Just when I was sure he was going to ignore both Scott and me, he slowly nodded in understanding. He turned his face back to Scott and said simply, "I'll help you."

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**I know that this was a bit of a shorter chapter, but with all of the action coming up in the next chapter, I wanted to break it up a tad bit. I promise you, the end is in sight. :D Thank you all so much for reading, and please do continue to leave your wonderful reviews behind. I honestly have no idea of how to explain how much I appreciate them, but all I can say is thank you all for your dedication and love for this story. It really makes me so happy! (: Again, thank you for reading!**


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

**Before I begin the next chapter, I just want to give a shout-out to all of the guest users who have left reviews for this story. There are a lot of you and I haven't really been able to thank you all for your wonderful feedback. I just want to make sure that you all know that I'm constantly reading those reviews and they are what truly feed my muse and keep this story rolling. As to the rest of you, as always, thank you so much for your continued support. I can't explain how grateful I am for how many of you have continuously read this story from the very beginning and have always showed your continuous support and devotion. Before I finish this story, I just wanted to thank you all so much, and I hope you continue reading the next segments of this story that I have truly fallen in love with. **

**Without further ado, here is the next installment of "Home":**

**Favorite Line:**

"_Is your code truly that important to you, Chris, that you'd go against your own family?"_

* * *

Once the pearly white orb of the moon managed to creep over the thick tree tops of the Beacon Hills Reserve, creatures of all shapes and sizes peeked their heads out of their homes and migrate around the forest. Skunks waddled through the dead, dried leaves in search of some prey to stuff their faces with. The sharp eyes of a handful of owls glinted under the dim moonlight as they glided through the chilly nighttime air, no doubt checking for any signs of some unsuspecting mice. A single doe effortlessly floated across the soft surface of the Earth, her coal-colored hooves pressing gently into the cool dirt as she paused in a seemingly safe clearing. At the loud sound of a branch snapping, the doe raised her head up in the air, her ears shifting in stiffened fear. In the blink of an eye, she leapt off into the shadows just as I emerged into the clearing, stiffening at the sharp sound of the breaking branch.

My shoulders still rigid, I glanced around the empty clearing, checking through the dim moonlight that I was safe and alone. A squirrel peered out of an unruly bush, its beady eyes glossy as it rapidly blinked before racing off as soon as it caught me staring. Gentle wind whistled through the bare tree branches and tousled my thick hair, brushing it frustratingly into my cerulean blue eyes. Hastily my fingers reached up to push the hair out of my eyes, the nervous breath of air that I had been holding in unleashing itself, forming a puff of smoke right before the tip of my nose. As nothing but silence continued to assault my eyes, my right hand found itself reaching around my back and feeling for the cold metal of the handgun that was tucked away in the waistband of my jeans.

Once my fingertips brushed against the metallic material, I felt the rest of the stiffness hidden in my shoulders unwind as I finally relaxed. Glancing around once more, I pushed myself forward and struggled to avoid thinking back to when I had first set off from the Hale House. Unfortunately, my subconscious had other ideas as it roamed back to the charred remains of Derek's house and how I had been forced to say goodbye and leave him behind with Scott.

"It's for the best," Derek had said, no matter how stubbornly I had glared up at him. "Jane, if Scott and I are going to find Peter, I don't want you anywhere near here. It's too dangerous."

"And what if something happens to you?" I had argued hotly, my arms crossed over my chest as I seethed like a temperamental, immature child. Scott had been standing a short distance away, uncomfortably struggling not to eavesdrop. I refused to acknowledge my stupidity, too bothered with the fact that I could be roaming around in the woods while Derek was being overpowered by the Alpha. "What if Peter manages to stop the both of you—or what if Kate comes back with the rest of her thugs? You're not exactly at full strength right now, Derek. You're winded just from what happened in that hallway. I can't just walk away without a second glance with this…assurance that nothing bad is going to happen."

Derek sighed, running his fingers through his black hair in obvious frustration. Sweat was still beading at his temples and a slight tremble was creeping up into his hands. He had to admit that I was right—he wasn't himself, not after everything Kate had put him through in that cellar. Eventually he forced his gaze back onto me and, pressing his hot palm to the side of my cheek, said quietly, "I'm not asking you to do that. I'm asking you…to trust me, Jane. If Scott and I are going to stop Peter, I need to know that you're safe. If something happened to you…none of this would matter. Do you understand that?"

Embarrassed by the heated flush that swept over my face and the lump forming in the back of my throat, I forced myself to softly say, "But, Derek—"

"But nothing," he cut me off firmly, already straightening up and returning his hand to his pocket. By the stubborn set of his jaw, I could already guess that, no matter how much I argued or how blue I got in the face, he would never bother listening to me. "Get to the main road and follow it back to the gas station nearby. Call Stiles and have him pick you up. That's what I'm telling you to do, and you'll do it."

Oh, how I _hated _being ordered around like I was some naïve child. I had, of course, made that known quite well when I had stormed away from Derek and an awkwardly shuffling Scott, not even bothering to offer them a genuine goodbye before disappearing into the woods. I was just too frustrated with him and his incessant need to point out that I was helpless, that I could never help him in this fight. I was _not _useless—I could do something, couldn't I? Everyone back at the gun range in Portland had constantly said that I had a sharp eye for shooting and could impress even Annie Oakley with my shot. Surely that had to be _something_, right?

So immersed in my annoyance toward Derek and his frustrating overprotectiveness, my foot snagged another branch, snapping it clean in half and forcing me to freeze once more. Breath lodged in my throat, I listened closely, waiting for the eventual conclusion that I was still, as always, alone. But then, just as I went to lift my foot off the broken branch and continue walking, a distinct sound abruptly reached my ears, one that I had heard countless times at the gun range back in Portland—a gunshot.

I instantly turned on my heel, narrowing my eyes through the thick darkness and countless tree trunks in hope that some hint as to where that gunshot had come from would miraculously peek out at me. Abruptly another much-louder noise sounding oddly like a contained, miniscule explosion filled the Beacon Hills Reserve, and I was frozen to the cold dirt no longer. In a hasty instant I bolted towards the sound, retracing my footsteps in the exact same process.

Stray, razor-sharp tips of branches snagged at my face with each clumsy, racing step towards the Hale House. Ignoring the scratches and miniscule droplets of blood slipping down my pale cheek, I reached back and grabbed ahold of the handgun hidden in my waistband and tightly gripping it in my trembling hand. With my loud crashing, it was difficult to listen for any other sounds that might hint at the situation I was racing into. All that I knew was that, no doubt, the first sound that I had heard was most definitely a gunshot. And then, as I struggled avoid falling face-first into a nearby pile of dead leaves, only one thought threatened to cross my mind—werewolves didn't need bullets to fight.

When I finally neared the Hale House, I heard a handful of voices, ones that sounded all too familiar. Despite all my instincts screaming for me to continue barreling forward and finding out just what was going on, my subconscious forced me to slow and peek through the obscuring shadows to find out just what was happening before the burnt reminder of Kate Argent's atrocities. _You have to know just what you're running into_, a voice sounding suspiciously like a mixture of Derek and my father hissed into my ear. Struggling to calm my nervous gasps of air, I squinted and instantly froze at what I had stumbled upon.

Scott was lying on his back on the leaf-covered ground, inching away towards the closed front door of the Hale House with a pale expression upon his face from a tall, brunette girl striding toward him, her back facing me. Struggling to figure out why a twinge of familiarity was kneading at my stomach, I followed Scott's squinted gaze as he stared off at some distraction in the distance. What I found forced my shoulders to stiffen: Derek crumbled on the ground, the blade of an arrow peeking out of his calf as Kate neared him. The glint of her own handgun under the dim moonlight as she slowly dragged it up to point at Derek unleashed the fire burning in the pit of my stomach and pushed me to slip from the shadows.

My stolen gun pointed straight at Kate's head, I barreled forward and shouted in a despicably trembling voice, "Stop! Stop right there!"

Everyone in the clearing right before the front porch of the Hale House froze at my voice, their eyes turning towards me. The girl striding towards Scott turned instantly on her heel, some weapon in her hand, but I paid her no notice. My eyes barely even saw Derek's frozen expression, fury sidling right below the surface of his extremely pale face. All I saw was the smirking face of Kate Argent, her eyebrows raised in pure amusement as she continued pointing her gun at Derek, only inches away from his face. Her words hissed darkly in my ear, lowly gloating about the murder of Derek's entire family and her revolting joy of being able to kill me next, just to punish him. Rage boiled within my stomach, my burns searing with hot pain as I struggled to compose myself and stop from shooting her right there at that very moment.

"I should've known better than to trust a man to carry out my orders," said Kate coyly, her voice calm compared to my shaky mess of words. "Honestly, how difficult is it to kill two trapped animals in a cage? I should've done it myself—it would have made this all the more easier."

"Put down your gun," I warned her shakily, struggling to stop the voices shrieking in my head to pull the trigger, to end this all right now. No matter how harshly they screamed, I wasn't going to do it, not yet.

"I don't think so," shrugged Kate, keeping to her word and pointing her gun directly at Derek's head. I followed its line of sight to him, just to notice him shaking his head at me, silently pleading with me to walk away, to give up. It didn't work—I wasn't doing that, not now. "In case you didn't notice, Jane, you're outnumbered here."

Just as I glanced to my left at the tiebreaker mentioned, ice pulsed through my veins at the sight laid before me. It wasn't just some girl that Kate had recruited to her cause and set on Scott, who was struggling to rub some fog out of his dark eyes. Allison Argent gaped at me, an impressive bow clenched in her white-knuckled fists. Her chocolate brown eyes, so familiar even in the darkness, met mine, and her light voice, usually so filled with laughter and beaming amusement, gasped out, "Jane? What are you doing here? What…what happened to you?"

"Why don't you ask your aunt?" I snapped out, pent-up frustration seeping into my voice. Catching slight movement in Kate's wrist out of the corner of my eye, I whipped my head back around and shouted, "I told you to put your gun down!"

"What are you going to do, Jane?" crowed Kate, smirk widening into a mocking grin with each word she hissed out. "I doubt you've ever even shot a gun before—didn't your parents warn you not to play with dangerous toys?"

Even in my trembling, white-hot rage, I had a damn good shot. Narrowing my eyes, I shifted the sight of my gun just a hair and pulled the trigger. A bullet rocked out of the handgun, vibrating harshly in my hands but not forcing me to jump back so easily, and lodged perfectly into the gun still clasped in Kate's calm hands. In an instant, it shot towards the blanket of cracked leaves and disappeared from sight.

Kate glanced back at me, mildly impressed despite the fact that she was now defenseless. "Honestly, all that talent—smart, feisty, not too bad of a shot—it's too bad it's all going to waste," she said wryly as she took a step away from Derek.

Her cold eyes, however, were not on me for too long; she was peering over my shoulder. It took me only a split second to realize just what it was—something sharp prodded me in the side and a rather nervous voice ordered, "Put down your gun, Jane."

Despite the fact that an arrow was pointed directly at me by a self-proclaimed "decent" archer, I refused to listen. Instead, I glanced over my shoulder and snapped, "No. Why are you taking her side, Allison? Do you have any idea who she truly is?"

"She's my aunt," argued Allison defensively. "You don't even know her—"

"I know what she's done," I snarled. "She's taken some sick joy in killing innocent people and torturing me to get information so that she can kill your boyfriend. She's a…a monster, Allison, and you have to see it. Just because she is your blood doesn't mean she's someone you can trust—look at what's happened to Scott, look at what's happened to me. She destroys everything she touches."

Even though my words were directed at Allison, my eyes never left Derek's gaze. He seemed to be frozen to the spot, unsure of how to respond to all of this. His leg was still bleeding, obviously not exactly healed yet. If I could just stall them long enough until he was healed…

"I'm sorry," said Allison, her voice filled genuine pain and reluctance. "But you have to put your gun down. Please, just do it."

"I can't," I said quietly.

"You're not a killer, Jane," she tried to reason, but she hadn't been the one who'd been tortured, who had been forced to watch as someone she loved was nearly broken before her eyes.

"Both of you put your weapons down. Now."

The vaguely familiar voice stepped out of the shadows, the tall silhouette revealing the lined face of Chris Argent. His eyes hesitated on his sister, a harsh, disappointed emotion flitting across his face before his gaze settled on the two of us. When neither of us moved, he repeated firmly, "Now."

When Allison lowered her bow, I reluctantly set my gun to my side, glaring at Mr. Argent. This was not going to end well. He would surely take Kate's side, choosing to believe that all werewolves were scum and liars and that his precious sister could never do any wrong. Anger gnawing at my insides, I turned to glare at Mr. Argent, only to be startled by his narrowed eyes at Kate, who had picked up her own gun from the leaves and went to point it directly at me. Derek instantly shifted, ready to leap and stop her, but Chris' words forced all of us to freeze.

"That's enough, Kate," he snapped sharply. "You can lower that gun—you're not going to shoot an innocent girl."

"_Innocent_?" repeated Kate, shocked fury creeping into her voice. "Are you kidding me, Chris? Have you missed this entire little episode? She shot at me and even threatened your daughter—and you're still willing to call her _innocent_?!"

"She was provoked," said Mr. Argent coldly. "You kidnapped and tortured her—I'd say that it's only fair that she'd be hostile."

"So what, we just let her go?" his sister snarled. "After she nearly killed your sister, who didn't even do anything wrong—"

"Nothing wrong?" repeated Mr. Argent in disbelief. "You lured her into a trap and kidnapped her for interrogation. And I know about the fire. There were innocent people in that house, Kate—even humans who didn't deserve to die. That's not what we do, Kate. It goes against the code."

"Life isn't dictated by the code, Chris," Kate rolled her eyes in annoyance. "I was doing what I was taught by our father, who was the same person who taught you everything you know, by the way. Are you saying that what our father does is wrong? Is your code truly that important to you, Chris, that you'd go against your own family?"

Before Mr. Argent could be given a chance to respond to this, the front door of the Hale House slowly crept open, the ancient creaking resounding throughout the abruptly silent clearing. Ignoring the spat between the Argents, Derek staggered to his newly healed legs and hurried over to me, roughly shoving me away from the circle of people.

"Get out of here," he snarled, shoving me again when I refused to budge. Before I could even make a move, a blur rushed by and knocked him directly on his feet, his head snapping to the ground and knocking him out.

Just as I made a step towards Derek, the same blur shoved into me and forced me the ground, hot breath wafting into my ear for just a split second before my right temple was smashed with a sharp fist, plunging me into brief darkness.

The darkness wasn't nearly as thick as when I had lost consciousness back in the cellar after Kate's "interrogation". In the distance I could still vaguely hear the feminine shrieks of a vaguely familiar friend and the growls and roars of battling animals. My fingernails dug into the flesh of the ground, a groan of pain ripping through me as spots erupted right before my eyes. Somewhere close by, someone was gasping for another person to wake up, begging them to please open their eyes. Frowning, I went to sit up on my knees but my head instantly began to swim, dizziness vibrating within my temples.

Abruptly a trembling hand grabbed onto my shoulder, nervously shaking my shoulder. Another groan rumbled deep within me, but I forced my eyes open and found myself gazing into the wide, chocolate brown eyes of Allison. Glancing over her shoulder, I found the entire clearing empty, Derek, Scott, and Kate missing completely from sight. In the distance I caught the top of the graying head of Mr. Argent, his body still collapsed on the ground.

"Jane, please, I need your help," Allison was saying, my dazed eyes slowly peering over at her. "K-Kate's dead and my dad, he's not waking up and I-I don't know what to do."

Despite the sweet, unfamiliar sensation of satisfaction that swept over my body, I forced myself to swallow it whole. Nodding, I forced myself up on my knees, ignoring the wave of nausea that swept over me, and crawled over to Mr. Argent's body, Allison hastily shadowing each of my labored steps. Nearby, the animalistic growls emitting from the Hale House were growing louder, resonating deep within me.

Ignoring the strange sensation, I hurriedly reached Mr. Argent and checked over his stoic face. His chest was slowly rising and lowering, soft pillows of breath drifting from his lips and nose. A deep purple bruise was forming on his left temple, but that was the only injury he seemed to have sustained. I hastily pressed my index and middle fingers into the side of his neck, waiting nervously for any sign of a pulse. Once I felt the beat of his heart pulsing underneath my fingertips, I glanced over at Allison and told her, "He'll be fine. He's just knocked out."

Just as Allison, instantly relieved, glanced hesitantly over my face and parted her lips to say something, a giant body hurdled out of the Hale House, blistering the clearing with chunks of splintered wood and clouds of thick, heavy dust. As I shielded my face from the debris, I blinked through the dim moonlight and froze at the sight of Peter, transformed completely into his horrendous Alpha form. The crimson red eyes, the intimidating claws. Standing on his hind legs, the immense head opened his mouth, revealing an array of razor-sharp fangs, and unleashed a bone-chilling roar, just as Scott, shifted as well, leapt out of the house and bravely stared Peter down.

Derek was nowhere in sight.

Before I could even contemplate just what had happened while I was unconscious, Peter picked up Scott bodily in his clawed clutches and roared furiously directly in his face, desperate to force his Beta to consent to him. Scott, however, refused to listen and kicked his foot forward, smashing it into Peter's nose and weakening his grip just enough to flip out of his paws and land gracefully back on the ground.

In the brief intermission of the battle between the Alpha and Beta, a Porsche vaulted through forest, the driver slamming on its brakes and spewing the entire clearing with dirt and pebbles that had been crushed under the car's tires. Everyone froze, completely taken aback by the sight of this strangely familiar car. Instead of trying to contemplate why this Porsche was so familiar, I hurriedly searched through the leaves, desperate to find my gun and prepare myself in case Peter decided to focus his rage on Allison and me.

Once I caught sight of the sweetly familiar glint of the handgun, I snatched it up into my grip and turned my head back up just to find Stiles and another boy I had never seen before barreling out of the car, beakers filled with some cloudy mixture clutched in their hands. Stiles, without hesitation, tossed the beaker sharply at Peter. We all watched as it arched up into the air and landed gracefully in Peter's waiting open palm, a smirk practically gleaming on his face.

Knowing all too well that my cousin had been counting on the beaker shattering, I raised my gun and, narrowing my eyes directly at the beaker, pulled the trigger, patiently waiting for the immensely satisfying sound of the glass shattering and liquid fire spewing out of the broken beaker. In the blink of an eye, the fire licked up Peter's arm, encasing his entire right arm and shoulder in crackling flames. Stiles' companion chucked his own beaker at Peter, this time shattering upon Peter's chest and blanketing the rest of his vulnerable flesh in flames.

Peter roared and writhed in fury and agony, but he didn't give in so easily to the power of the fire. Instead, he slowly turned toward Allison, who was frozen by her father beside me. Just as he took a step towards her, I raced up and hooked my arms underneath the sharp crevices under her arms. I struggled to drag her away, trying to get her to safety. The stubborn girl shrieked that she couldn't leave her father, but I refused to listen, my eyes widening as Peter took another slow step towards us.

Scott appeared out of nowhere, maneuvering his body so that he landed a hard kick square in the chest, knocking him away from us both and shoving Peter away from us. The flames vanquishing his flesh and burning him just as it had once before, he staggered into the forest and eventually fell to the ground, finally beaten.

A sigh of relief fluttered from my lips as Allison tugged herself from my grip and rushed over to Scott. Mr. Argent staggered to his feet, clutching the side of his head as he slowly got his bearings. While he watched on as the young couple softly whispered to one another, Stiles hurried over to me, his wide dark eyes blinking in shock at my injuries.

"God, Jane—" he just managed to say before pulling me into a tight embrace. I let loose a soft sigh, just relieved that I was finally seeing the family that I had been so sure I would never see again. One of the people that I loved most…

"Derek," I whispered, and pulled myself out of Stiles' arms just as the familiar silhouette of the one man I loved most staggered over to Peter's smoldering, fleshless body. I took a step forward, desperate to see him, desperate to tell him that everything would be alright, but Stiles grabbed ahold of my arm, keeping me close to him. "Stiles," I tried to argue, but he simply shook his head, his narrowed gaze watching Derek.

"Derek!" Scott abruptly shouted, just as Derek found himself standing above Peter's body, whose hissed voice could still be heard in the noiseless clearing. "Derek, stop! You can't kill him! He's the only chance I have of being human again, of being _me _again! If you kill him, I'm as good as dead!"

Derek hesitated, but I could just catch the poisonous voice of Peter, egging him on to do what his instincts were screaming for him to do. No matter how much pity I felt for Scott, all I could see was Laura's smiling face, the same face that I would never see light up ever again. I kept my lips pressed together, watching as Derek's hand abruptly shot up in the air, claws sprouting from his nails as it sloped down and slashed Peter's throat.

In the deep silence of the night, a slight breeze ruffled my hair, sending a chill down my spine. Rendered mute, I watched as Derek slowly turned towards us all, his irises flashing an all-too familiar shade of crimson red. His deep voice fluttered onto the breeze, caressing my face gently as he darkly said, "I'm the Alpha now."

* * *

**And that is the end of this chapter. Get ready, the next chapter will be the last one for this story! I'm so, so excited to write it! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and please feel free to leave behind a review and let me know what you all thought! Thank you so much for reading and I hope you all have a wonderful weekend!**


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Wow. I have to say, even when I started this story, I was never quite positive that I would be able to finish it. I'm notorious for starting stories and having them lose my interest, or the real world infiltrates my mind and forces me to walk away from my work. However, even though I had a brief hiatus, I have to say that this story never left my mind—my love for these characters kept pushing me to keep going, to keep working. And now, here I am. I'm a little sad, a little happy, and very, very excited to continue working on the next segment of this story. **

**Before I get into the future of this story, I want to thank those readers who have been devoted to this story from the beginning. I don't have to give their names, but you all know who you are. I truly do appreciate and admire how wonderful you all have been, and how patient you all have been with my sometimes slow updates. You truly are incredible people, and I couldn't be more blessed to have you as my readers. (: I also want to thank each and every reader who has left behind feedback and their honest opinion in their reviews—you have truly helped me grow as a writer, and I would not be here, writing this chapter, without you. **

**Now, as for the sequel to this story, I may take a couple weeks to begin working on the first chapter. I've just started back at school today, and with that and work, it may be difficult for me to sit down and write for a little while. As long as nothing drastic happens, the sequel should most definitely be up by the end of this month. If it comes to April and I still haven't posted the new chapter, I will most definitely post an Author's Note notifying you all that I am still working and just needed a little more time. Lastly, I will also post an Author's Note as soon as I upload the first chapter so that you don't have to constantly be checking my Author's Page to know when I have posted the new story. (: **

**When you reach the end of this chapter, I'm warning you, you may not be happy. I'll all say is that there will most definitely be a sequel, so don't start flipping out just yet. ;) **

**Well, I believe this will be the last time I post this, but here it is—without further ado, here is the final installment of "Home":**

**Favorite Line:**

"_We need to talk."_

* * *

"Jane?"

My body instantly jolted awake, bashing my right temple against the ice cold car window in the process and forcing me to bite down hard on the inside of my cheek to stifle my gasp of startled pain. I weakly went to lift my fingers up to press against my forehead, only to find them digging sharply into my palms. Groggily, wincing at the agonizing sensation as I pulled my nails from my own flesh, I brought my hands up to my face, squinting through the swirling darkness in pure confusion as I caught sight of the pale pink crevices shaped into miniscule half-moons embedded into my flesh. Dried droplets of blood clung to the tiny gashes, forcing a grimace to flash across my face.

"You were doing it when you were sleeping," came an all-too familiar voice.

Just as I went to whip my head around in surprise, a calloused, warm hand caught my bruised cheek and firmly held my head still. As Derek leaned forward, narrowed, forest green eyes studied my head, his hot breath gently caressing the tip of my nose. I had barely managed to even catch a glimpse of him after he had slashed Peter's throat, despite the fact that we had driven together for almost twenty minutes, and yet there he was right then, only inches away from me. Abruptly I found myself desperately holding in my breath, unwilling to let myself ruin this moment. As if sensing my nervousness, Derek's eyes flickered down to mine and, in an instant, he released my cheek and returned to the driver's seat.

Allowing my reluctant breath of air to billow out in front of me, I glanced outside the window to my right and found myself staring at the brilliantly lit front porch of my grandparents' house. Heavy wisps of cloud blanketed the velvety black night sky, shielding the stars and moonlight from cascading onto the Earth below. A soft smile flickered on my face, and I couldn't help but think about how incredible it would be to just to collapse onto my bed, still fully clothed, and wrap myself into a tight cocoon of warm blankets. Just as the fleeting thought of falling asleep caressed my mind, my insides seized up instantly and my fingernails began to dig into the soft flesh of my palms. Frowning in puzzlement at my strange reaction, I shook the tangled thoughts out of my head and apprehensively turned back around to face Derek.

"Would…would you like to come in?" I asked him shyly, the silly question nearly causing me to grimace. This man had slept in my bed on more than one occasion—why was I even bothering to ask?

Derek sighed reluctantly, white-knuckled fists clenching at his steering wheel as he avoided my gaze. His back was rigid, although I could just catch hints of exhaustion beginning to creep onto his face—dark circles were already embedding themselves under his eyes. No matter, he didn't need to say a single word—I could read his response easily in his stiffened shoulders and narrowed eyes.

"Please," I tried again, unwilling to leave that car without him. "I…I need someone to help me sneak in. I-I don't want to see my grandparents to see me like this, not yet…"

Moments ticked by, initiating me to ponder how I was going to avoid my grandparents, when Derek silently stepped out of his car, slamming the door loudly behind him. Stifling my desperate desire to sigh, I pushed my own door open and went to slide out of the slick leather seat into the chilly night. But, before I could bother planting my tentative feet onto the cracked pavement, a pair of surprisingly gentle arms reached in and easily lifted me out of my seat. Sucking in a sharp, startled gasp of air, I uncertainly wrapped my arms around Derek's neck and blearily blinked up at him in surprise.

"I can walk, you know," I pointed out at him, but Derek simply ignored me as he strode towards the side of my grandparents' house, carrying me effortlessly in his sturdy arms.

I'm not even quite sure how Derek managed to reach my second story window while still securely clasping me in his arms. It all happened in such a blur, and my mind was so emotionally drained that all I was concerned with was closing my eyes and vainly willing away the dizziness that kept churning deep within me. All that I was certain of was that, when my eyelids reopened, we miraculously were in my dark bedroom and Derek was calmly resting me on my clean sheets, unwinding my tangled arms from around his neck.

Swallowing away my nausea, I frowned as he began to take a step away from him and said, "You can't leave yet, Derek."

"You're tired," he replied curtly, his back still turned to me as his head tipped forward slightly, shrouded completely in swirling shadows. "You need to get some sleep."

"No," I said sharply, stubbornly willing away my exhaustion and glaring up at him. "Not yet. We need to talk."

Despite the frustrated sigh that filtered from in between Derek's gritted teeth, he fortunately turned back towards me and reluctantly sat on the edge of my bed, keeping a considerable distance between the two of us. "Fine," he said coolly, narrowed forest green eyes refusing to shy away from my determined gaze. "Talk then."

Heaving in a nervous gasp of air, I allowed my cerulean blue eyes to slip down to my lap, my fingers twisting tightly into each other, and found myself saying, "First off…I want to say thank you." Even without having to look up, I was positive that Derek's eyebrows rose slightly in stifled surprise—clearly he hadn't been expecting that. "I know I've never really said it before," I continued, "but thank you for saving my life more times than I can count. In the forest, that night when my tires were slashed, back in the cellar…I can't thank you enough for all that you've done for me, Derek."

Derek nodded, his intense stare softening ever so slightly as I found myself unwittingly peeking up at him. All of my thoughts vanished from my mind, my planned discussion points extinguished completely by those eyes. Sucking in my breath, I abruptly said, "I just need to know, Derek…when you killed Peter, were you thinking about what he did to Laura, or were you thinking about becoming an Alpha?"

In an instant, Derek's gaze hardened and he scowled down at me. Despite his apparent discomfort with my question, it took him quite a few moments to respond. His eyes simply swept over my face, as if unsure of how to respond or why I had even bothered asking him in the first place. This time, I refused to back down—it was something that I needed to know before he would slip out of my room. Eventually he replied with his own question, "What do you really want to know?"

"The truth," I said immediately without an ounce of uncertainty.

Pursing his lips, Derek reluctantly nodded and, after a moment's hesitation, responded, "It was a combination of both. No matter what, Peter had to die. He killed Laura, he would've eventually tried to kill you. I couldn't just sit by and allow him to live any longer. He was too much of a threat."

"What about Scott?" I couldn't help but ask him. "Could Peter really have helped him?"

"It was just a myth," Derek shook his head. "There was no positive way of knowing whether it would've even worked. And, to be honest, at that moment Scott's humanity wasn't my priority—your safety was."

Chewing on my bottom lip thoughtfully, I found myself nodding at his response. Did I believe he was telling the truth? I genuinely wasn't too sure. I suppose I would never know just what Derek was thinking at that moment when he had staggered towards Peter, jaw clenched with fury. But, I was certain of one truth: I would never hold what he had done against him. No matter what the opinions of others had been, Derek had done what he had thought was best, and I respected him for that. Whether it had been the right decision, I suppose we would just have to wait and see how the future would play out.

"So what happens now?" I asked him, breaking the thick silence between us and forcing his gaze back upon me. "What's next? Will you…will you start building your pack?"

"That's the first step," he nodded reluctantly. "I'll probably start with Jackson—the guy that Stiles came with tonight. He's not exactly my first choice, but I guess I'll make it work."

"Who would be your first choice?" I couldn't help but bring myself to ask.

"You."

I blinked up at him, startled by his blunt honesty. Apprehensiveness forced my spine to stiffen, a reaction that Derek did not miss. He laughed hollowly as he said, "No matter how evil and twisted he was, Peter wasn't wrong when he said you would make a strong werewolf. You're smart, incredibly talented and annoyingly stubborn." Catching my light smile, he sighed before saying, "You're also extremely unwilling. I wouldn't ever want to force you to do something you weren't ready to do. Back in the cellar…I believe when you say you have no desire to be bitten, Jane. That's why I'm not even going to bother asking you or bringing it up ever again. I won't do that to you."

Nodding and feeling the warmth of appreciation spreading through my stomach, I found myself asking, "So what is going to happen with me? With…us?"

A reluctant sigh escaped Derek, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck almost uncomfortably. Ignoring my curious gaze, he got to his feet and paced around my room, pausing for a surprisingly long moment in front of my computer desk littered with beaming and laughing framed photographs. His broad shoulders still shielding me from catching a glimpse of his movements, he replied, "You can go on with your life now, Jane. Peter's dead now, and you won't have anyone else bothering you ever again. You'll graduate from high school in a month and eventually go off to college—probably some private school where you'll meet the people who don't des…who are right for you. You'll be safe and positioned perfectly to have a normal life. A happy life that you deserve."

Cold tension sparked within my bedroom as I frowned at Derek's turned back, his long fingers clenched around the edge of the wooden desk, his knuckles so white that they threatened to shatter my desk. A few months ago, before I had ever started my life in Beacon Hills, all of that would've sound perfect. Perhaps, if I hadn't delved into the history of Laura's family and stumbled onto Derek Hale, that future still would have sounded even remotely appealing. But, deep down in my heart, I knew for a fact that never in a thousand years would Derek's proposition ever make me truly happy. Finally I found myself loosening my tongue and preparing my response.

"I don't want that life, Derek."

Derek's fingers instantly released my desk at my voice, dents embedded into the soft wood, as he slowly turned on his heel and returned that intense, piercing gaze back to me. "You don't mean that," he said with an unreadable frown flitting across his face. "You can't."

"I do," I replied simply. "Derek, that life…while it may be the dream of every ordinary girl in this town, in this county, in this state, to do just what you said…it would never, ever make me happy. Without you in it, that life would have no meaning, no purpose."

To my surprise, Derek ran a frustrated hand through his slightly damp jet black hair and let out an impatient groan. Shaking his head and turning his eyes from me, he snapped, "You don't understand any of this, Jane. I can't make you happy. Not now, not with what happened back in that forest."

Furrowing my brow, I began in a puzzled voice, "I don't understand—"

"Being an Alpha is a completely different world compared to being a Beta," Derek explained, taking a looming step toward me with each of his words until he was only centimeters from me, his shaking hands roughly clenching my shoulders as I wordlessly gaped up at him, his furious, rising voice forcing genuine fear to entrench itself into my flesh. "There's an instant focus on me, a spotlight that will bring dangerous people here, Jane; people who will stop at nothing to find my weaknesses, to find what they can use against me. I have no family, no real friends—all I have is you. You are the only weakness that I have. Look how easy it was for Kate to find you! You could've died in that cellar, Jane, and for what? To protect Scott? To protect me? It's not worth it. None of it is ever going to be worth it, not if it means any harm coming to you." Derek abruptly released me, his harsh grasp no doubt leaving bruises on my pale skin underneath my thin shirt. He strode towards my closed window, as if desperate to leave, to escape all of this. His hands struggled to stop trembling, even as he rubbed his clenched jaw as he turned his back to me. "Don't you understand, Jane?" he finally asked me, his back still turned.

Shaking my head and struggling to swallow back the harsh lump in the back of my throat, I forced myself to whisper, "It doesn't matter—"

"YES, IT DOES!" Derek abruptly roared, forcing me to instantly freeze in surprise. Before I could bother even considering if my grandparents would hear—they were probably asleep by then, stuck in their medicine-induced slumber—Derek continued furiously, "Are you so willing to risk your life for me?! Am I really worth it? And it won't just be your life, Jane. These people—hunters, werewolves, everyone—they'll stop at nothing to hurt you, to hurt me. They'll hunt down your grandparents, your uncle, Stiles—no matter who they have to kill, as long it hurts you, they'll be satisfied."

Ice flooded my veins and forced my back to stiffen. My grandparents? Uncle Jake and Stiles? Sure, I may have been willing to put myself in danger if it meant being with the man I loved, but was I so daring as to risk the lives of my family, the lives of my friends? They had sacrificed so much to bring me here, to make sure that I would live a happy, satisfied life. How could I possibly sit by and stay with the man I loved, if it meant putting the ones I loved most in danger?

Realizing just what my mind had already decided even before my heart could comprehend it, my eyelids clamped shut just as tears slipped down my cheeks and budded underneath my chin. Taking in a shuddering breath, "Y-you're right."

I'm not sure of what exactly crossed across Derek's face at that moment, but the reluctant words slowly tumbled from my quivering lips as I gasped out, "I love you, Derek, I truly do. But I can't put my family's lives in danger, not even if it means sacrificing my own happiness. I can't do that to them, not after all they've done for me."

A sob clogging the back of my throat, I forced my eyes open and blinked up at Derek, sniffling loudly. He went to take a step forward, his hand outstretched, but he stopped, as if unwilling to come near me. Reluctantly his hand returned back to his side as he said, "It's for the best, Jane. You'll see, in the end—this is how it's supposed to be."

Wiping away the drying tears from my cheeks with trembling fingertips, I found myself choking back a sob and saying, "So this is it. This is the end?"

Slowly Derek nodded and, just as his eyes met mine, I realized that this may be the last time I would see him for a very long time. As if the same thought had crossed his mind, he abruptly strode towards me and, cupping my tear-stained face in his hands, pressed his lips roughly to mine, encompassing my mouth completely with his. I desperately wound my arms around his neck, unwilling to let him go, to let him leave me just yet. My lungs threatened to burst, but none of it mattered—as long as I was still connected to him, a little pain was worth it. But then, before the kiss could transform into anything more, Derek gently grabbed ahold of my wrists and unwound my arms from around his neck.

"Live your life, Jane," he whispered into my ear before disappearing completely from my bedroom. His warmth was still pressed into my skin, his scent still flooding my senses. It was as if he was still there, still holding me tightly in my arms, protecting me from any danger.

It was only until I allowed myself to open my eyelids that I realized that I was truly, finally alone.


	28. Author's Note

**I am thrilled to announce the publishing of the sequel to this story, otherwise known as "Howl". Feel free to head over to my Author's Page and give it a read. (: Also, if anyone is willing to create a graphic for my new story, I would be absolutely thrilled! Thank you all so much for your patience and the continued support you have offered me. Hopefully this will be a good enough reward. (:**


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